


Trust Me

by ACB1



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 44,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACB1/pseuds/ACB1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A raid goes sideways, and the Fulcrum is in play. Red needs the Fulcrum - now. Will Lizzie trust him enough to give it to him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own or make money from the Blacklist - unfortunately.

When it was all over and the smoke had cleared enough to see, it was still hard to say who had been right and who had been wrong. The truth was it was unfair to assign blame or alleviate one of it. The events of the day had been disastrous by any measure, and all involved could claim mea culpa to some dregree. The intel had been wrong, and no one had second-guessed it. The Blacklister and his people had been in the building across the street, watching and laughing as the FBI raided the insurance agency full of innocent, law-abiding employees. 

It was when the FBI exited that office building that the siege began, right on the street. Innocent bystanders were killed, FBI agents were killed, insurance agency staff were killed. The shootout lasted over thirty minutes, an eternity of gunfire and a staggering body count, that ultimately resulted in no arrests, no capture. It was a bloodbath the likes of which the Bureau hadn’t seen in quite a while. The Blacklister and most of his people, aside from several shot and killed, were in the wind, and the FBI was up a creek. The backlash of the failed raid smarted; the media attention was ruthless and ongoing. Assistant Director Cooper and his team were under investigation as a result of the botched attempt to secure number seven on the FBI’s most wanted list: Russian mafia overlord Dimitri Molokovsky, responsible for the murder of dozens and criminal activity extending decades. His capture would have been a feather in the FBI’s cap, but the alternative, the bureau’s failure to apprehend him, had proved a relentless public relations nightmare.

Elizabeth Keen, Donald Ressler, Samar Navabi, Aram Mojtabai and AD Cooper were questioned ad nauseam, but it was Liz who bore the brunt. She had contact with their asset and had been the one to advise the team based on information provided by said asset. The asset had provided Molokovsky’s whereabouts, and it was that information that set the plans for the raid in motion. Though Cooper staunchly refused to comply, the powers-that-be wanted the name of the asset. An asset, by the way, that Liz had not heard from in three days. 

She had left Red a number of messages, first angry, then desperate, and, finally, pleading messages, but to no avail. He had not called her back, nor Dembe. She was worried and beside herself, consumed with failure and the responsibility of so much loss of life that she was sick. At the end of the second day of interrogations over her role in the debacle, she developed a migraine and threw up numerous times, in trash cans, bathrooms, once in a paper bag. Eventually the agent in charge released her, not without contempt, so she could go “sleep it off.” She was to return in the morning and be prepared to give the name of the asset. Someone was responsible for this mess, and if she didn’t feel she could give up the name of the asset, that responsibility would be on her head, the agent assured her. 

She barely heard him. She had to concentrate to get to her car without vomiting. Her movements were slow and careful. No sudden movements, she kept telling herself. She drove slowly and cautiously. She made it to her motel without incident. She immediately took her prescribed migraine pain medication when she got in the door. She managed to take off her shoes before lying in bed and very quickly fell into a deep drug-induced sleep. 

Hours later, she was slowly roused to consciousness by a gentle hand stroking across her forehead and through her hair, again and again. It was exactly what she needed. It took the focus off the dull, throbbing pain in her head, and she moaned her acceptance of the comforting gesture. The lulling movements continued, and the pull of deep sleep pressed upon her again; she began to slip away. But, then she realized where she was. And as her eyes popped open, a hand came over her mouth. In the nearly all encompassing darkness provided by the heavy motel curtains, she could not make out the person whose hand covered her mouth, and she began to panic, but then he spoke, “Shh, Lizzie, shh. You’re okay.”

Red. She swallowed and took a deep breath in and let it out her nose. His hand was still over her mouth, and the other in her hair. He was close enough to her that she could smell his aftershave and feel his breath ghosting along her neck. She shivered. Her adrenaline was flowing, and her heart was beating quickly, in time with her pounding head. 

“Lizzie, if I take my hand away, will you remain quiet and listen to what I have to tell you?” he asked, in a near whisper.

She blinked, her eyes were adjusting to the darkness now, and she could see his seriousness and urgency plainly. She moved to nod, but her head protested, and she winced, closing her eyes against the pain. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. She could hear the concern in his voice. 

She opened her eyes and unwilling to nod or shake her head, she spoke against his hand, her lips moving tantalizingly against his palm and her breath warming it, “No, I’m not. Red, where have you been?”

Instead of moving his hand away from her mouth, he fastened it more securely. “I know we have a lot to talk about, that the capture went sideways, but I need you to pack some things quickly. We need to go, Lizzie. Now. I will explain later, but I need you to do as I say. Will you do that?”

She looked at him for a moment, so close to her and with what she could almost call fear in his eyes. They were in the middle of a shit storm with the Bureau, and there was no way she should leave. In fact, she had been ordered to do exactly the opposite. She was expected to report back first thing in the morning to continue being interrogated. If she was a no-show, there would be serious consequences, not only for her but for other members of the team as well. But, something was wrong. And, to find out what, she needed to go with him. She closed her eyes again, trying to calm down and think clearly. Her mind was sluggish, swimming in pain killers that hadn’t had time to wear off properly. 

He leaned down further, placing his mouth at her ear. “The longer we delay the more dangerous it becomes. Are you awake, Lizzie?”

“Yes,” she whispered back against his hand. “Okay. Move your hand.”

“Not yet,” he said, with his mouth still at her ear. “I need you to agree to one more thing before we can go. I ask out of necessity. I ask only so I can maintain your safety and mine, Lizzie. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” she said, calmly, her lips warm and wet against his palm.

“I need the Fulcrum. I need you to give it to me now, Lizzie.”

She opened her eyes, and despite the pain in her head, she began to yell at him behind his hand clamped securely over her mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you who have read this story so far. I so, so appreciate your kudos and comments. They serve as true motivation and much happiness.

Red’s hand muffled her refusal, her curses, her outrage and anger, her hurt and betrayal. He let her rant, biting the inside of his cheek while he listened, his displeasure and impatience obvious to Liz despite the darkness of the room. 

When she finally quieted, breathing heavily against his hand, he took a deep breath. Having moved from her ear, he leaned in closely, looking in her face. Very quietly, with barely maintained restraint, he continued as before: “Are you done, Lizzie? Because, there are likely people listening, and soon this place will be surrounded, and we will have to shoot our way out. Can you move quickly, so we can leave? If you have the Fulcrum, it needs to come with us. It is paramount that is in my possession or, at the very least, yours for what is happening. Do you understand, Lizzie? It is happening. And, we need to go. Now.”

She was afraid. She had never seen him like this. Whatever was happening was big. And, she was wasting time. She would question him later, make sense of all he said later, but for now she knew she needed to listen to him. She licked her lips out of nervousness, forgetting about his damn hand. “Yes. Let’s go,” she said.

He nodded swiftly once and finally removed his now moist hand from her mouth. She breathed deeply, fully awake and shaking with drug-laced adrenaline. As quickly as she could, which was not quickly at all, she got up from the bed. Red had turned on the bathroom light, and was already moving briskly around the room. He shook his head when she moved to turn on a lamp. 

She grabbed a duffle bag from the closet, and opening the four drawers allotted to her in the cheap motel bureau, she dumped whatever clothes she could snatch up into the bag. Red was already in the bathroom, placing items into Liz’s makeup bag. She walked in behind him as he was placing her razor and hair brush in the open bag. As she moved to venture further in, he stopped her: “No. We can buy whatever I don’t pack. Get the Fulcrum, Lizzie, if it is here. If not, tell me where we have to go to get it.”

“It’s here,” she admitted. “I’ll get it now.” She moved to the bed and reached under it. She pulled out a large box and opened it. Inside it was a smaller box and then another smaller box, until she pulled out her white singed bunny. After asking for Aram’s help and getting no satisfactory answers, she had placed the object back in her bunny, where it had been safely kept for years, apparently. With her sewing kit, she had even stitched it back up. As she moved to put the bunny in her duffle bag, Red walked out of the bathroom.

He stopped in his tracks, eyes locked on the bunny. All the frenetic energy swirling around him came to a halt. She looked up, afraid they were already too late to leave, that something had already gone wrong. His brow was scrunched, his head tilted and his eyes held something like recognition and a tenderness she had rarely seen. She couldn’t speak for a moment. She just watched him. What was happening? What was he seeing?

Finally, she spoke: “Red, I have it. Let’s go.”

He blinked and shook his head slightly, breaking through his reverie. He nodded without a word as she stuffed the bunny carefully in the duffle bag. He handed her the makeup bag he had already zipped up. She closed the duffle, slipped on her shoes and grabbed her gun.

Red was at the door, gun in hand. When she stood behind him, ready to go, he took her bag from her. “Stay behind me. Go directly to my car. Get in the passenger seat. Keep your gun ready,” he directed. 

“Is Dembe waiting?” she asked.

“Dembe and my team have moved on to handle other aspects of this situation. It’s you and me,” he said. “Are you ready, Lizzie?”

She nodded. “Open the door.”   
* * * 

Liz had to step over one dead body directly outside her motel room door and another on the steps leading down to the parking lot. Red’s utter lack of hesitation or acknowledgment regarding the dead led her to believe he had killed them on his way into her room. As they reached the bottom of the stairs he turned left, leading her to the side parking lot. There were three more dead men along the way. She swallowed. What was happening? And, how close had she come to being killed? 

They reached a black Suburban with tinted glass – FBI issue. There were several bullet holes in the passenger side. She stopped. What the hell was going on? 

Red was already getting in the driver’s side, having quickly placed her bag in the back seat. 

“Get in,” he demanded. The engine came to life, and he had the car in drive. 

She sprang into action, opening the door and climbing in; he pulled away before she had the door sufficiently closed. In minutes they were on the highway headed out of Washington. He did not speak or look in her direction. Her head throbbed, and her mouth was dry. She was dehydrated from the excessive vomiting and as a side effect of the medication. Hours of sleep had only acted as a slight dulling agent to her pain. 

She looked over at Red and studied his profile. He looked, for lack of a better term, militant – focused, determined and alert. There were no reassuring smiles, no elaborate moral-laden stories and no explanations. This man looked like a soldier on a mission. This man was not someone she recognized. Something had changed, something fundamental. 

His phone rang, startling her. Without looking away from the road, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the device. His responses were terse, and his expression went unchanged: “Yes. … I see. … That won’t be a problem. … Keep me informed.” When he finished the call, he rolled down the window and tossed out the phone. The only outward sign that anything of consequence had been discussed was his foot pressing more heavily on the gas pedal. They were headed south at an alarming speed. 

She had waited long enough for him to talk. It did not appear like he was going to explain a thing to her, and her stress increased with each mile traversed. “Red, what the hell is going on?”

“Not yet, Lizzie,” he said, not looking in her direction. For twenty more miles, she waited. He pulled off the highway eventually, driving down a dirt road to nowhere. About a mile in, he parked. Within five minutes, another vehicle drove up. 

“Stay here,” he said, getting out of the Suburban and grabbing her bag from the backseat. He talked with a man she couldn’t identify. The conversation was brief. He walked back to her side of the car and opened the door. “Get out. We’re switching cars.” He grasped her elbow to help her down and while doing so spoke quietly in her ear, “Don’t say anything. No questions.” She nodded. 

They settled in the new vehicle, which was really old and not nearly as comfortable as the Suburban. The four-door sedan had seen better days. When they were back on the highway, still headed south, she dared to speak to him again, this almost foreign man. 

“Red, tell me what is happening,” she demanded, unable to fully mask the growing anxiety coiling inside her. 

He again did not turn to her, but he did speak, resolutely and without emotion. “Well, Lizzie, it looks like the tables have turned. As of now, you are my asset.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this world, S2Ep14 has occurred. How could it not? Thanks so much for reading, giving kudos and commenting. It helps so much to hear what you think and know if this is being well received.

“What in the hell does that mean? That I am your asset? In what way? Because of the Fulcrum?” Liz asked, her increased heart rate adding to her nausea. The pain in her head made it difficult to lift it from the headrest and to keep her eyes open. He remained silent, so she continued. “Red, either tell me what is going on now, or I am getting out of this car.” 

“You can’t even hold your head up, Lizzie. Don’t try something at which you’ll most assuredly fail,” he advised stoically. 

“I don’t understand you right now, Red, or why you are acting this way. Maybe if you would give me a little information I would stop, and this would be better for both of us,” she said, her words slurring slightly, the migraine intensifying. “Frankly, this whole thing is scaring me. You’re scaring me.”

He said nothing.

Against her will her eyes began to close. Sleep was the best cure for her migraine. She knew that, but this was not the time for sleeping. As she began to slip into oblivion, she mumbled, “This is starting to feel like a kidnapping.”

*** *** ***   
Through the windy, cold winter night, they traveled, changing vehicles twice more. Liz’s attempts at sleep and recovery were thwarted again and again. Red refused to stop at any gas station or convenience store, but with each new vehicle came a full tank of gas and provisions – water, snack food, first aid kit and burner phones. They relieved themselves under the cover of trees on the side of the highway and only when changing vehicles. He remained aloof, distant and, dare she say, professional. But while he seemed far away emotionally, physically he was so present, eyes relentlessly scanning the landscape, reflexes coiled and quick, and verbal responses sharp and succinct. 

He continued to be anything but forthcoming about their destination and why they were headed there despite her relentless pushing and prodding. She needed answers, and all she got from him was silence or “wait.” When she finally reached her breaking point and could no longer tolerate his evasiveness, it was nearly 4 a.m. After five hours of travel, she had had enough and began to yell. Her head protested, but she ignored it, and Red ignored her. 

“Pull over,” she demanded, nearly hysterical.

“Absolutely not,” he said, calmly.

“Reddington, pull over!” she said again, this time desperately.

“No.” He didn’t bother to look at her.

“I’m sick, Red. Pull the damn car over. Now!” 

He turned to her quickly and really looked at her face for the first time in hours. He pulled over immediately. She opened the door before the car came to a full stop. She ran to the edge of the woods and fell to her knees dry heaving. She had fought against her ongoing migraine-induced nausea since getting in the car, and she couldn’t anymore. She was miserable. But, she was also too dehydrated to have anything else to throw up, so finally she just rested her head in the cold grass and breathed.

Soon, she felt a hand on her back. “Lizzie? How can I help?” For the first time since they left her motel, he sounded like the man she knew. 

She didn’t move from the grass. She was breathing heavily, her eyes were watering and her nose was running. “Lizzie, let me help you,” he said again, gently.

“Will you get me a bottle of water, please, and some napkins,” she asked, sniffling.

“Of course.” 

His warm hand left her back, and she heard him walk away. She should run right now – into the woods and away from him. Everything about this was frightening to her, but she also couldn’t move just yet, couldn’t think straight, and she needed to and soon, because whatever this was that was happening she intuitively understood to be life changing. And, the longer it took her to act on her own behalf the more would be dictated by him. Right now, he held all the cards, and she felt powerless.

She finally lifted herself from the ground and stood up. She was shaky and in pain, but the thought did enter her mind that maybe she could make it through the woods to the next exit, that she could lose Red if she really wanted to. If she got to a phone, she could call Ressler and get this all figured out. She might have a shot at saving her career then, the future of which would be highly in jeopardy in a few short hours. She needed to stretch her legs and began to walk into the dense, dark woods just to test the viability of such a plan. Though she knew executing it right now was not reasonable, she thought if things kept going the way they were, it was something to truly consider during one of their future stops. 

She hadn’t made it ten steps before strong arms wrapped around her from behind. She gasped as she was pulled flush against a male body. “Elizabeth, what do you think you’re doing,” Red asked, his words deep and stirring in her ear.

She closed her eyes against the thrill his voice always invoked. She felt his words reverberating through her. Their bodies were pressed together in a way they had only been once before and very briefly – when he had grabbed her and pulled her into a prison cell when she came for him at the prison where Luther Braxton was held. Even through the haze of illness, she took pleasure in him. He felt solid and warm, and she just wanted to sink back into him and rest. She wanted comfort and care, and instead he was angry with her and cold, and she didn’t understand why. 

And while she had never really intended to leave him, she decided to play it that way to test him. “I am going to find my own answers if you won’t give them to me. I am done with this little adventure, Red. I am going home. I will deal with whatever this is as an FBI agent. Not like this,” she said.

His arms tightened around her. She could see the bottle of water she so desperately needed dangling from his fingers. “You aren’t going anywhere but back to the car. We have already stayed in one place too long. It is imperative that we keep moving,” he said, sounding slightly less cold and more frustrated and tired. She could work with frustrated and tired. 

“Red, I am not going with you until you tell me more. Be reasonable. Work with me. Where are we going? Let’s start with that,” she said, still pressed against him. 

He huffed, exasperated. She was wearing him down. Perfect. “Lizzie.” He was against her ear again, “I could take you bodily to the car without any real resistance. You are weak and sick. It’s a migraine, isn’t it, Lizzie? You have another migraine.”

In times of great stress, Liz got migraines. She had since she was a teenager. She had never really discussed them with Red, although she had had several since she had met him, the last of which followed her capture by Luther Braxton The internal struggle to stand her ground and fight Red now was strong, but she felt such relief that he was talking with her, that he sounded like he cared, that she caved. “Yes.”

“Do you have your medication?” His concern was melting her resistance to him. She sagged against him slightly. 

“Yes. I packed it in my purse. But, it knocks me out,” she explained. 

“Sleep is what you need,” he said, softly.

“No,” she said. “I need answers, Red.”

“Lizzie, sleep first. Then we will talk. We will arrive at our destination in three hours. South Carolina. We are going to South Carolina. Now, please, we need to go.”

“Red,” she was unsatisfied with his answer. 

He stopped her. “Lizzie, please. I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

His warmth and soothing voice had enveloped her. And, the last time he had said ‘please,’ it was to push her away, to stop her from ever helping him, to have her agree to never come to his aid in a life or death situation. He wanted her to promise to never help him again; she didn’t, she wouldn’t. Now, he was asking ‘please’ in a way she felt was pulling her toward him, but also toward an unknown. But, this ‘please’ she could agree to; she could trust him, she did.

“Yes, Red. I will trust you,” she said. 

“Thank you. Now, drink the water, and let’s get moving.” He loosened his arms and slowly released her. She turned, and he handed her the water. As she began to drink, he led her back to the vehicle. In the car she wiped her face with the napkins and found her medication. Though she did not relish being asleep for any of this, she needed to feel better, so she took the prescribed pills. She fought it with every ounce in her, but she fell into another deep sleep. 

When Liz finally did awake, it was to sunshine and birds chirping and the warmest, softest bed she had ever experienced with the smell of coffee beckoning. Mmmm, it was so good. It felt perfect; she felt perfect. Her head no longer hammering she could think clearly, and as the fog of slumber lifted, she did. And, her eyes popped open. 

She sat up quickly and found herself in a cabin of sorts. The double bed she slept on was in the center of what appeared to be a one-room, very old house. She looked down and saw she still wore her clothes from work the previous day, only her shoes were missing. She was alone as far as she could tell. Liz got up and walked to the small kitchen area, where she found a mug and poured herself some coffee. She took a first grateful sip and sighed. Now, where the hell was she? 

Exploring the whole of the cabin took a minute at most; aside from the one room was a small bathroom with an even smaller shower. She could go for a shower. But, where were her clothes? Where was her duffle bag? She went back out to the room and found her bag at the end of the bed. But, as she frantically searched the bag, she soon realized her bunny with the coveted Fulcrum inside was gone. “That son of a bitch,” she exclaimed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you reading this little story. I appreciate all of you in this lovely fandom.

Chapter 4

That conniving, manipulative son of a bitch. He took the Fulcrum. What had she been thinking? She had all but given it to him, without the answers she needed, without reassurances, without anything. She had left it, and herself, vulnerable, and now it was gone. Lord knew where he was and if or when he was coming back. And, where the hell was she? South Carolina. He had said they were headed to South Carolina, but where exactly? She rifled through her bag, her purse and the entire cabin for her phone or any phone. 

She found none. 

She stood up and looked out of every window in the cabin. There was a lake in one direction and woods as far as the eye could see in every other. She did see a barely discernible dirt road down which they must have traveled to get to the cabin. How long it wound she didn’t know, but she didn’t see any sign of a bigger road or other cabins, no other signs of human life. She didn’t see their car, either. She opened the door, which led to a porch that wrapped around the house. She walked around the whole of it and saw the same thing as from the windows. No people, no houses, no cars. 

She tried to give Red the benefit of the doubt. Something bad had happened. There had been multiple dead bodies outside of her motel room. She could assume she was in some sort of danger, and he was protecting her. Was she in danger because of the Fulcrum or was it something else? Red keeping her in the dark was unusual. It was also dangerous, and he knew that by now. They had always proven more successful together than apart; she could admit that. 

And, so, she waited. Trusting him like she said she would. He had made coffee after all, or at least she had to assume it was him. So, he would be back, right? She just had to have patience. She did find a clock, and discovered it was 10:30 a.m. She had slept for a while. No wonder he was ready to get to work on whatever he was working on. He was just letting her rest, giving her time for her head to feel better. She spent some time convincing herself that all was well, because the alternative – that he had used her all along to get the Fulcrum and had now left for good – was beyond what was possible for her to consider at the moment. She couldn’t entertain it, not now. No, she was not going down that road. 

Because having Red gone, really gone, would be the end of her in so many ways. She did not think she would be able to carry on in any kind of successful way if he left her like this. It would be the last straw; the final crack in her tenuous existence; it would cause her to finally crumble. He might be the only thing holding her together. She laughed aloud at that thought, alone in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. 

She cared for him. And, not only that – he knew she did. She had told him in no uncertain terms. But, what she didn’t know for sure, what she only suspected, was that he cared for her, too. The truth, though, was Raymond Reddington could walk away from what he cared about, no matter how difficult, and never look back, and that scared her more than anything else. 

* * * 

By early evening she was beside herself with anxiety. She had tried to stay calm; she did not want the migraine to come back. But, he had not returned. So, she forced herself to act, to do normal things while she waited for his return and explanation. She had showered, eaten, sat on the porch and read, paced, made the bed, washed her dishes, paced some more, and begun writing down the possible scenarios that had led her there on a notepad she found. She had dwelled on the events of the past several days – the dead, Molokovsky and his men still out there, the interrogation, the criticism, the guilt of the extensive body count, the worry about her team, the fear of what Red was doing, and the likely destruction of her reputation and career. There was even the death of the harbormaster and all that that still might mean for her and Tom’s phone call to add to the list of things that made her life nearly unbearable at the moment. 

By 7 p.m. she had finally, finally, had enough. She was going to take her chances and leave. It was very dark and cold, but she was an FBI agent and had a gun. Maybe the darkness was better anyway, easier to conceal her from whomever might be looking. She hid her duffle bag under the bed, took a flashlight and a knife she found in a kitchen cabinet and walked out the door. 

She surveyed the perimeter again and saw nothing. She began to walk. She made it halfway up the dirt road when she heard some crunching of leaves and branches to her left and out of the woods came a large man. He was approaching her at a steady pace. She backed away quickly, drawing her gun. “Stay right there,” she said loudly. “FBI.”

He continued to approach, undeterred by her weapon, but he did put his hands up. “Ma’am, I need you to stop,” he said. 

“I said to stay right there,” she yelled. “I will shoot you.”

“I have orders from Mr. Reddington to not allow you to leave the premises, Ma’am,” he said. He sounded like former military, and looked young, very fit, stoic and determined. 

“What the hell,” she muttered, and then to the man, she spoke loudly, “Listen, I don’t give a damn what you’ve been ordered to do. I am leaving, and I will shoot you in order to do that if I have to. Do you understand?”

“You do what you have to, Ma’am. I do think you should know there are others. This property is surrounded, and everyone has their orders,” he explained, his voice strong and resolute. 

“What are you? Part of some kind of Reddington secret service?”

He didn’t answer. 

“Where the hell is he? Can you answer me that?” She was well and truly pissed now. 

“My orders are to make sure you stay on the premises,” he explained. 

“For how long?” 

“Until the orders change, Ma’am,” he said.

“So, that’s all you know? Is that right?”

“Everything else is need to know, Ma’am.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot I need to know. Like why the hell Reddington has an army to hold me hostage,” she said. He just stood there silently, his hands still up, because her weapon was still drawn. She sighed, “You can put your hands down. As much as I’d like to shoot you, it doesn’t sound like it would do much good, now does it?”

“No, Ma’am,” he agreed. 

She began to walk back toward the cabin. 

His voice stopped her: “You will be checked on periodically, you will be brought provisions, but if you need anything in between, you can just walk out like you just did, minus the firearm, and someone will meet you at the top of the road.”

She turned to him. He was absolutely former military. His hands were clasped behind his back now. His eyes were straight ahead. She nodded, and he did the same.   
***

And so it went for eight very long days. She developed a routine of sorts. In the mornings she had coffee and wrote her theories on her notepad. She exercised – usually jogging around the lake. Then she showered and spent time outside – on the porch, in the woods or by the lake. One day she even wandered into the lake fully clothed; her escapade drew one of Reddington’s men out from the edge of the woods. He didn’t approach her; he just stood guard in case she needed rescue, she supposed. It was winter; he probably thought she was trying to hurt herself through drowning or hypothermia. She wasn’t; she was just dreadfully bored and angry and feeling slightly destructive. 

She walked to the top of the road every day, multiple times a day. She asked questions of the various men who stood guard there, like where in South Carolina were they exactly, why was this happening, who were they, could she use a phone, would someone buy her a newspaper, might she be brought a TV, would someone mail a letter for her, and always, always, when the hell was this going to be over. She never got the answers she wanted. She rarely got answers at all. She even tried her hand at seduction a couple of times, trying to lure the men to the cabin, so she could knock them out and run. It never worked. Reddington must have paid well, or she was not as tempting as she’d hoped. 

After lunch she would read for a while – the cabin was well stocked with books – and then plan her escape – a new route every night. And, every evening, under the cover of darkness, she would attempt to leave. She had told Reddington she would trust him, but this was too much to ask or expect of her. He should know that. Apparently Reddington’s soldiers were ordered not to kill her, because she sure was a pain in the ass. She was quite sure they wanted to hurt her, maim her, something, so she would stop being so difficult. But, they didn’t. They did take her gun, however, and her knife. She had tried to hurt them, many times. She punched, kicked, clawed, screamed, but they were well trained, as one would expect of those in Red’s employ, and she was no match for them, despite her own training. 

Because of her nightly exertions, she slept well. It surprised her at first, how easily and deeply she slept, but it was so dark and so quiet and the bed was so comfortable that for the first time since she learned of Tom’s deception she felt peaceful at night. Her guards helped, she supposed. They did make her feel safe enough to sleep. She was the much guarded queen of a small, lonely and very twisted kingdom. 

Most of the time she did feel lonely and afraid of what was happening in the world. She worried that by the time all of this was over she would no longer have a place in it. She had an irrational fear that she was being erased. That out there somewhere Red was erasing her, and she was powerless to stop him. If she thought too much about it, she would lose her mind, she would absolutely come apart, so she focused on what she could control – her theories, her escape routes and her hope for getting out. 

Her day eight escape plan was the most successful to date. She managed to make her way into the woods closest to the cabin undetected, and she ran about three miles, dodging branches and sliding on wet leaves nearly twisting her ankle several times, before she heard footsteps. She hid in the hollowed out trunk of a felled tree. She waited there for a long while after the guard had passed her before moving on. 

It was another several miles of root-filled, thick forest before she saw a small building, what appeared to be an outpost of sorts, in the middle of the densest woods. She peered inside and seeing it empty she entered it, hoping to find information. She turned on her flashlight and determined it was indeed an outpost for her guards. Her eyes were drawn to the newspapers that lay across the small table – copies of USA Today, The New York Times, The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, The Blackville Courier – all from this morning, all with similar headlines – “FBI Agent Missing, Presumed Dead,” “Weeklong Search for Missing FBI Agent Continues,” “FBI’s Most Wanted Suspect in Agent Disappearance,” “Most Wanted Reddington Sought in FBI Agent Disappearance.” 

The words rocked her. They hit her like a punch in the gut, knocking the wind out of her. Her knees started to buckle, and she sat down in a chair by the table. My God. What was happening? Was this real? No, no, it wasn’t, it couldn’t be. Red hadn’t kidnapped her. She had left with him willingly. They were partners. She trusted him. He had put the FBI up to this, surely, to protect her somehow. That had to be it. The FBI had to be in on it. That was the only explanation, and when he returned, he would tell her all about it. 

But, from the back of her mind, came the counter arguments – why didn’t he tell her what was happening from the beginning? Why did he keep her in the dark? Why did he act like a stranger with her when usually, even when she was hostile towards him, he was warm and solicitous? Why had he left her alone all of this time with no communication from him and with no way to communicate with others? Why did he take the Fulcrum? Why had he made sure no news from the outside could reach her? Why the guards? She had been held against her will for eight days. She could not deny that. She had tried to leave time and time again and had been prevented from doing so. What had he done? 

She stared ahead, her breathing labored, as she tried to come to terms with what might be the truth – Raymond Reddington had kidnapped her. 

Just then strong arms came across her shoulders and a cloth covered her mouth and nose. Everything went black.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, as always. I am having fun with this, and I hope you are, too!

Chapter 5

When she came to, it was with a clear-headed intensity that nearly left her breathless. Instead of feeling groggy, she was fully alert and immediately cognizant of her surroundings and those occupying her space. Hoping no one had noticed the change in her state, she kept her eyes closed and didn’t move an inch; instead she listened and assessed. She was in an open vehicle, likely an all-terrain vehicle, and there were three men riding with her along a very bumpy road. She would guess they were three guards taking her back to the cabin. It was cold, windy and drizzling. She didn’t know how long she’d been out, but it had been about 9 p.m. when she initially left the cabin. She had likely been in the woods several hours, so she would guess it was early morning, maybe 1 or 2 a.m. 

She was wet and cold. Her lower legs burned from deep scratches she had gotten from the low branches she encountered again and again as she ran through the woods. She was not restrained, which was surprising. Someone was sitting next to her; two others were in the front seat. She was slumped over in her seat, buckled into a seatbelt that kept her from sliding down or out of the vehicle. 

They spoke to one another minimally and of nothing that would help her figure out more of what was happening to her. Finally, the one in the front passenger seat said, “Halt.” It was the voice of the man she had encountered on that first night. She felt him leave the vehicle once it stopped. They sat there idling for several minutes. The others didn’t speak at all while he was gone. When he finally returned, he spoke with authority, but without the confidence she remembered from a week ago. “Proceed to the cabin. Quickly. Let’s get her squared away. Then, we need to move out for a while,” he instructed.

Move out? After she had nearly escaped? Something was going on. She had to resist the compulsion to open her eyes and look around and fully understand what had just happened, because something had happened. 

After another short distance, the vehicle stopped and was turned off. The man with the voice got up again, unhooked her seatbelt and lifted her out of the vehicle. She remained limp in his arms. He carried her up the three steps to the porch and opened the door of the cabin. When they were inside, he placed her on the bed. She stayed still, on her back, splayed out awkwardly on top of the sheets and quilt. Very quickly she heard him leave and close the door behind him. Just to be safe she remained in her current position on the bed, eyes closed, as she listened for the vehicle’s engine to come to life. When she could be confident she was alone, she would get up and figure out just what the hell those guards were up to and how she could capitalize on it. 

She breathed deeply and calmly, focused on the sounds outside, waiting, when she heard a sound much nearer. 

“Lizzie.”

She sucked in a deep breath but didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t move. She waited. Lizzie. He was the only one left who called her that. There was no Sam, no Tom, to do it anymore. As much as she didn’t want Red to call her by her nickname in the beginning, she cherished it now, delighted in hearing it roll off of his tongue wrapped in his deep, honeyed voice. She wanted to hear it, craved it even. Lizzie. It warmed her insides, melted her resolve, calmed her. This traitor, this liar, this killer, this man who hurt her, he sounded like everything she ever wanted. And, he was here to destroy her. She knew it. She knew once she opened her eyes she would have to face a new reality, a reality where she couldn’t trust him, where they weren’t partners anymore, and she wasn’t Lizzie. And it hurt almost too much to bear. 

“Lizzie, I know you are awake,” he said.

She opened her eyes, allowed herself a moment to adjust to the dim light of the room, and then turned her head toward the sound of him. He was leaning against the small kitchen table, arms crossed, lips pursed, looking annoyed. He was wearing a dark gray suit, all pieces still intact, dry and neat. His rain jacket was draped across a chair; his hat lay on the table on top of a mess of paper full of her theories and drawings of escape routes. She, on the other hand, was wet, muddy, completely disheveled, and laid out in front of him like an unwanted gift. 

He stared at her a moment before shaking his head in disdain, like he found her distasteful, and something inside her snapped. She vaulted from the bed and charged at him. 

“What have you done,” she demanded, pushing at his chest with both hands. “What. Have. You. Done? I saw the papers, Red. Am I dead? Have you killed me? Is that where this is going,” she yelled, slapping his chest with open palms, pushing him, tears welling in her eyes. “Why? Why are you doing this?” Every push she gave him left him unmoved. He was leaning against a table that was pushed against a wall. Figures. She growled at his steadiness even as she spun out of control. So, she slapped him – as hard as she could – across the face. He remained silent, still. The bastard. Unsatisfied, she drew her hand back again, this time making a fist, and as she went to punch him, he grabbed her wrist, lightening quick, and twisted it around her back. It was painful, and caused her to be pulled up against him, her other hand on his chest smashed between them. 

“Lizzie, I need you to calm down,” he said, licking the corner of his lip that she had managed to cut. 

“Go to hell, you son of a bitch. I want answers now,” she yelled, their faces merely an inch apart. 

“That mouth of yours,” he said, shaking his head critically. “It’s going to get you into trouble.”

“Yeah? Well, fuck you. It looks like I am already in trouble. I have been kidnapped by number four on the FBI’s most wanted list and am now presumed dead by his hand. I don’t see how a potty mouth could have led to any of that, so forgive me if I don’t seem concerned, you manipulative fucking bastard,” she sneered.

“Stop it,” he said, quietly, gripping her wrist harder. She hissed at the pain, arching her back, which pressed her into him further. Her breasts were pushed tantalizingly into his chest, and her stomach was pressed against his. She could feel his every breath. She could see the rapid pulse thumping in his throat and feel his quickened heartbeat against her hand. The room was quiet now except for their heavy breathing. She dared to look up at his face, and what she saw there was wholly unexpected; he was staring at her with something like desperation, fear, loathing and desire all wrapped together in a swirling hurricane of emotion with pupils so, so dilated. It made her mouth go dry and her belly molten. The immediate fiercely intense physical response she felt left her breathless, hungry for something she never expected to crave. And, now, right now, she wanted to satisfy that craving so, so badly. 

She shifted her gaze to his mouth. That mouth. It taunted her, beckoned her, soothed and chastised her, and now she was so close to it. She just had to move ever so slightly to feel it, taste it, finally. She leaned further into him, edging her mouth toward him. He sighed softly, and it was like a welcoming. She closed her eyes, and just as her lips made the lightest contact with his, he squeezed her wrist. She gasped.

“You’re hurting me,” she whispered, against his mouth, opening her eyes. 

“I don’t want to,” he said, with eyes closed. “I’ve never wanted to.”

“Then why are you,” she asked quietly, moving slightly so their foreheads were pressed together and their lips were aligned. 

“I have to,” he whispered, his bottom lip catching on hers.

“Why, Red? Tell me why,” she pleaded, sliding her lips across his slowly, committing the texture to memory.

“It’s the only way, Lizzie,” he said, his voice deeper than she’d ever heard it. 

“Find another way,” she demanded, tears beginning to spill on her cheeks. He opened his eyes.

“There isn’t one,” he admitted. He let go of her wrist then and brought his hand up to wipe her cheeks. His other arm had made its way around her waist at some point, and he kept her anchored there, against him. 

She placed her now free hand across the cheek she had slapped. She rubbed it gently with her thumb. 

“Please, Red. Please,” she begged him, her mouth against his, her tears wetting his face, her breath mingling with his, she begged him to stop what she believed was coming. “Find another way,” she pleaded once more.

“Lizzie,” he groaned quietly. Their proximity was getting increasingly difficult for him, affecting him in ways that made him vulnerable. She could feel it pressed against her belly, and like a magnet, she was pulled toward what she wanted, hips moving in time with his recitation of her name. “Lizzie.”

She couldn’t hold back anymore; she kissed him, open-mouthed and wet, desperately and deeply. She moaned into him. His arm around her tightened, and his hand at her cheek moved into her hair and gripped her head firmly. After a moment’s hesitation, he answered her mouth’s movements with his own, growling his acquiescence. 

She hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time, and she had never kissed anyone like this – with absolute abandon, mindlessly letting her instincts and her body lead, and it was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. He was masterful and delicious, his tongue coaxing and plying, his lips silky smooth and firm and everywhere, and his teeth, oh, his teeth made her shudder, at her lips, her jaw, her neck. And the kiss went on and on, slow and gentle, then deep and resonant, then hard and fast, and back again, until she thought she would lose her mind. It was so intimate and so affirming that she began to feel a long dormant part of herself rouse. She was so fully engaged, so consumed by him, that when he pulled away, and told her to “Stop,” she didn’t listen, didn’t hear him. She reached for his mouth again, pulling him back toward her, hands at his belt buckle. 

“Lizzie, stop,” he said, voice shaky. “We need to stop.”

She looked at him with heavy-lidded, glazed eyes, full of desire for him, and a swollen, moist red mouth. With color high on her cheeks, she was sensuality itself, beautiful, enchanting, and, even if she didn’t know it, wouldn’t know it right then, so very desirable and desired it was painful. 

“What? Why?” Her mind was still trying to find its way back.

“We need to talk,” he said, carefully pulling his hand out of her hair and slipping the other slowly from her waist. But, he couldn’t back away from her; he was up against the table, and she was still flush against him, eyes wide, hands gripping his pants. “I need to talk to you. But. Lizzie. Will you step back, please? I can’t … I can’t talk to you like this. I can’t … ,” he swallowed and shook his head, at a loss, tongue-tied. 

“Of course,” she nodded, flushing even more deeply, trying to gather herself from her lust-filled haze, embarrassed by her eagerness and how flustered she felt. She let go of him and took two big steps back, hanging her head and closing her eyes. 

She didn’t see him turn around and grip the table with both hands. She didn’t see the shudder that wracked his body before he hung his own head and began taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Instead, she turned away from him and walked to the bathroom and closed the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy chapter 6! There are several more chapters to go. Thanks to those sticking with this story. I appreciate all who read this so very much.

Chapter 6 

Liz turned on the bathroom light and leaned against the door. She took a deep breath and let out a small laugh before she could get her hand to her mouth to suppress it fully. 

Wow. 

Of all the things to do right now, of all the stupid, reckless things to do. What had possessed her? But, wow. That had felt amazing, fantastic and so, so natural; never, ever had she been so thoroughly and perfectly kissed. Huh. So, this was what people were talking about when they said they could kiss their partner all night. She had always just seen it as a means to an end really. But, that out there? That was something else; she could get lost in the means for days.

She shook her head; she had to get a grip. Because, he had stopped them. Stopped her. And, she knew that was the right thing to do, despite the ongoing quivering of her thighs and the slickness in her panties. It had taken so little for her to reach the point of no return with him, to want him to take her straight to bed. The intensity of the attraction overwhelmed her. However ashamed she felt at her wanton reaction to him, his reaction was just as obvious. In that moment, they had been equals; he had wanted her, too. And that was powerful stuff, unbelievably powerful stuff. 

But she knew the timing was all wrong, and there was a major situation on their hands, that the reasons behind all of what had taken place over the last eight days would be revealed to her very soon. This physical revelation, while hard for her to compartmentalize, would have to be dealt with later. She needed to know why he had held her here and what the hell he thought he was doing with this fake news story. 

She turned to look at herself in the mirror and was horrified at her reflection. She looked wild – aroused and dirty, literally. She had leaves in her matted, wet hair and mud smeared down the length of her neck, but her eyes were brighter than she’d ever seen them. She needed to face him, to go back out there and face him. But, first, she thought she might benefit from a quick shower. She was cold, her clothes were damp, and the adrenaline still coursing through her was causing her to shiver.

* * * 

Ten minutes later she found him sitting at the table studying her papers in his shirtsleeves. He turned when he heard her, assessing her openly from head to toe. She was dressed for comfort in a soft long-sleeved t-shirt, yoga pants and warm, thick socks to protect her feet from the cold wood floor. Her damp hair was pulled up in a loose bun. She looked fresh and clean and smelled sweet and inviting. She also looked calm, collected and ready to get down to business. He cleared his throat and with one quick shake of his head resolved for the same. 

“You have kept busy, I see,” he said, gesturing toward the papers spread out on the table. 

“Well, what did you think I would do? Sit here quietly and wait like a good girl,” she asked.

“I didn’t expect to show up tonight to find a search party underway for you. I didn’t expect to hear they had to give chase each and every night you’ve been here, and that you were violent, mouthy and demanding. I didn’t expect to hear stories of attempted seductions,” he shook his head and pursed his mouth. “Really, Lizzie, that was beneath you.” She felt the heat rise up from her chest to cover her neck and cheeks. “You knew I wouldn’t just accept this or you wouldn’t have had guards planted all over the place. You were prepared. You knew exactly what I would do,” she said.

“Not exactly, Lizzie,” he said quietly. 

Her blush deepened, but she forced herself to not look away from him, to not be ashamed, to maintain their equality in the surprising pleasure of their kiss at least. “No, maybe not exactly,” she agreed, and after a beat, continued, “I think it’s time we talked about why we’re here.” 

“Yes, I agree. Sit down, Lizzie. I’ve made some coffee. Would you like some,” he asked getting up and offering her his chair. 

“Sure,” she said, sitting in his warm seat. It was a little after 2 a.m., and she figured the coffee may help when the adrenaline wore off. She expected they would be awake until dawn, because she wanted a complete explanation. She would settle for nothing less. 

Once he settled across from her, he handed her a mug of coffee while he sipped his, and he took a good long look at her. His expression had turned so serious, and she could easily detect his hesitation and conflict. His eyes gave him away. 

“What is it,” she asked, quietly, unable to help herself.

“I just need you to know – before I begin – that I have done my best to avoid this very situation. But, that I, in large part, am to blame for what has happened; it is a result of my weakness that we are here. And, I’m so sorry, Lizzie, so very sorry. I hope someday you’ll remember these words and believe them, because you won’t today,” he said solemnly. 

“Red, just tell me,” she said, anxiously. 

And so, he began: “It is now my firm belief that Molokovsky was tipped off by Luther Braxton as to who you are and what you might possess. Apparently that petty short-sighted thief gossiped like a middle school girl before I got to him. Braxton was a terrible businessman, a double-crossing schemer who would have been far better off sticking to what he knew best – stealing. Instead, he got cocky and greedy. He went to the highest bidder with his information, and that was Molokovsky, who would have paid Braxton far more money for the Fulcrum than his original client. It’s likely Molokovsky and his men planned to kill Braxton – just to simplify things – and take the Fulcrum and you as soon as both became available to them. My interception of Braxton and his untimely death ruined their plan. So, they were forced to come after you themselves. 

“They made their operation known to lure you and the FBI to the insurance agency. The agency was a decoy. I tipped you off, yes, but if I hadn’t, someone else would have. I should have seen how obviously they played their hand. It was too obvious. So, they lost a few men and dozens of innocent lives were taken – all the better. It was the diversion they wanted, and it worked perfectly. You were vulnerable, and the FBI was in trouble and that became the bigger headline. 

“Molokovsky himself was never in danger. He was watching from a safe distance, Lizzie. Once they had you in their sights, it was only a matter of time. They were going to take you that night, but I beat them to it. They know there is a connection between us, but they don’t know of my connection with the FBI. It is more readily believed that I am involved with you for the same reasons they want to be – to get the Fulcrum and then to use you for any other information you might possess. These are bad people, Lizzie. They will stop at nothing to get what they want.” 

“What do they want,” she asked.

“You,” he said, simply.

“If they can have the Fulcrum, why do they need me? I thought my only value was that I had the Fulcrum. Why take me if they already have it? I understand killing me, so I can’t talk, but why take me?”

He shook his head, looking down at the table, and took a deep breath. “Your value far exceeds that of the Fulcrum. Who you are, what you represent, is far more important.”

“Masha,” she said.

“What?” His head shot up, and he blinked and clenched his teeth.

“Masha. It is a Russian name. I am Russian. Aren’t I? Is Molokovsky going to take me home? Will I be a trophy for him? Give him power or leverage of some kind? Is that what this is?”

“To have you and the Fulcrum in his possession would make him extremely powerful in Russia, yes. To be the one to have found you alive and return you to Mother Russia would be quite a coup for him. But, ultimately, it would make Russia powerful. The Russian delegation would hold all the cards, be able to blackmail nations around the world with the information contained in the Fulcrum, and tip the balance of power in their favor for generations to come. That can’t happen, Lizzie. It would change the world as we know it. And, in the meantime, you would be used, made to work for some of the worst of the worst in the world. They would pretend to revere you because of who your parents were, but they would plunder your memories, use your intel to gain U.S. secrets, and use your skills to kill for them, spy for them. You would be a prisoner for the rest of your life, serving the dregs of the underworld however they saw fit. And, that is not going to happen,” he stopped then, spent and angry. 

She was reeling from what he was revealing to her. He didn’t deny who she was; he didn’t try to cover up the truth. He just seemed defeated and disgusted by it. But, she still didn’t fully understand something: “But, Red, you took the Fulcrum. They don’t have it. You do. So, what they have all believed – that you’ve had it – it’s true now. Doesn’t that give you or allow you to keep the power, maintain the balance?”

“The Fulcrum is safe now; it is in my possession. That is true, but before now who you are was only known to me and to Sam and, to a lesser extent, Dembe and Mr. Kaplan. All those who would have made your life hell thought you dead. We made sure of that. But, now that is no longer the case. They will come for you, Lizzie, again and again. If you live, they will pursue you relentlessly until you are in their possession. And, once they have you? They will never let you go,” he explained, looking pained. 

“So, you took me instead? You made it appear like you kidnapped me,” she confirmed. 

“It was them or me. And, I didn’t make it appear that I kidnapped you; I did kidnap you, Lizzie. I took you. You might have come without me having to physically carry you out, but have not doubt – I did kidnap you. I am a notorious criminal who will stop at nothing to get what I want. I kidnapped you and stole the Fulcrum and have stored it away for my own purposes. All of that is absolutely true. No one is getting the Fulcrum. It is mine now. And, no one is getting you. You are one of the world’s most valuable assets. And, I took you, used you for information and then disposed of you,” he explained, this time looking more threatening than pained. 

“But, Red, Cooper and the others, they know what is happening. They know I’m alive, right? And, eventually, you will catch Molokovsky, and this will be over,” she said, looking frightened.

“No, Lizzie. No one can know. The newspapers had it right – you were kidnapped and killed by me. I stole from you – got what I needed – and killed you. That is the official story. It is believable. It is absolutely what is expected of me. It is exactly what should have been done. It solves all of the current and future problems. Molokovsky loses to me, which is nothing new, and I retain the Fulcrum and my ability to expose all those who threaten the safety and security of the world. Your death was necessary and prudent. Molokovsky will agree. It’s how he would have played it if he were in my position,” Red said, his dispassion growing. He was distancing himself. 

“What are you saying to me, Red? Are you going to kill me? Are you going to make all the stories one hundred percent accurate? Are you going to finish the job you started? Am I going to die?” She had started to shake, the reality of this situation beginning to finally seep in and spread through her organs and limbs like an infection. 

He stood up from his chair and walked away from her then. He went to a window and looked out. He put his hands in his pockets and stared into the darkness. “If you were anyone else, Lizzie, the answer would be simple. Yes, you would die. It is the smart move. But, it is not simple. You are not anyone else. You are …,” he stopped and tilted his head. She could see his reflection in the window, the conflict in his countenance. He opened his mouth, closed it and shook his head. “No. You will never die by my hand. Never. But, you have to die to the world. Elizabeth Keen can no longer exist. If she is dead, you stand a chance of living.”

She stood up then, too, and stood beside the table. “I’ll take my chances as Elizabeth Keen. I don’t want to do this. Let me go back to work, explain everything. Let’s get the taskforce to help us. We can find Molokovsky and end this. Cooper, Ressler, Aram, Samar, they won’t believe these stories. They won’t believe you killed me. They will keep digging until they find you and me. We need to go back. We can work this out,” she pleaded, working hard to keep her voice steady even as her body shook, the beginnings of a fight or flight response taking hold. She looked around the room for possible weapons, most of which had been confiscated, and her proximity to the door. 

“Don’t try it, Lizzie,” he warned, his back still to her and his mind already two steps ahead. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

“I want to leave,” she said, and her voice sounded small and tears clouded her vision. 

“If I let you go, you will be dead inside of a week,” he explained flatly, finally turning around. “Trust me.”

“How can I trust you, Red? You held me here for over a week with no explanation. You admittedly kidnapped and robbed me. You are faking my death, taking away my life, most of which you have already destroyed, and I am not sure if you want me to live for my sake or yours. How can you possibly expect me to trust you,” she asked, her adrenaline flowing.

“Trust this then, Lizzie. For you to live, you need to become someone else, and I am the only one who can successfully make that happen,” he said emphatically, approaching her. 

“The Concierge of Crime at work,” she said, her sarcasm laced with fear, as she backed away from him. “Maybe you are lying to me about this whole thing. And, I could walk out of here and be fine. I have a habit of trusting bad men – liars, manipulators. I’m tired of doing that. Maybe it’s time I trusted myself. Because I know there is so much you aren’t telling me, that you don’t want to tell me. Maybe you have finally gotten what you wanted from me and now you just want to eliminate me in a way that makes you feel less guilty somehow or leaves the door open for you to come for me again later for more information. Maybe you feel done with the taskforce, and this is a way for you to escape, regardless of the immunity deal. There are so many things that could be true. How am I supposed to trust what you tell me when I been lied to and used for years?”

He continued to step towards her, even as she stepped back. She was nearing the door. She could outrun him, of that there was no doubt. The guards were removed from their usual posts. She remembered her route from before. One more step, and she could be out the door, across the clearing and into the woods before he could get down the steps. 

Her heart was pumping double time. She needed to get out of here before he took all of her choices away. She needed to try to get out of this; it didn’t matter what he wanted. She had a life to consider. She had a job and friends and hopes, and he was taking it all away, like it was easy, like she should be grateful. Well, she wasn’t. She needed to get the hell out of this nightmare.

She turned from him and lunged for the door. She made it to nearly the edge of the woods before he snatched her up from behind. He had both arms around her middle and her feet off the ground. She kicked and screamed and cursed him and made it as difficult as possible for him to restrain her. He was stronger than he looked, but she was no slouch. 

The struggle eventually exhausted them both. After several minutes, they were both panting from the exertion. He continued to hold her tightly. When he realized she was crying, he began talking soothingly in her ear.

“Lizzie, try to relax. It is going to be okay. I need you to trust me, Lizzie. Please, trust me,” he said, among many other platitudes.

“Red, let me go. Just let me leave,” she said.

“I can’t do that,” he said. 

“Whatever happens, I won’t blame you, okay? Just let me go back, and whatever happens, happens. You have the Fulcrum. You can disappear. You will be fine,” she reasoned.

“No, I won’t be. I won’t be,” he said lowly in her ear. “Now, please, promise me you will hear me out.”

“Put me down,” she demanded.

“Promise me, Lizzie,” he said again, in her ear.

“Yes,” she said, quietly.

When he placed her on the ground, he grasped her hand. “I need you to stay. I need you to hear me out. We aren’t finished talking. Can we go back inside now?”

“I don’t want to go back inside. Can we go sit by the lake?” She tried to pull her hand away as she began walking. 

“We can, but we’re going to go just like this,” he said, nodding to their hands. 

She didn’t try to pull away again. They walked quietly the quarter mile to the lake. The moon was full, and it was cold, but the wind and rain had died down, so it was tolerable. 

They sat silently side by side on the wooden dock holding hands, feet dangling for several minutes.

Finally, Red looked at her feet, and gave her shoulder a little bump with his, “You aren’t wearing shoes, Lizzie.”

“I know,” she said quietly, enjoying the pressure of his shoulder.

“I worry that you don’t take care of yourself – that you don’t dress warmly enough or eat enough; that you don’t sleep, laugh or make love enough; that you don’t think of your own safety; that you take too many risks,” he said quietly, as he stared in the distance. 

“Red, I can take care of myself. I am a grown woman, you know,” she said, leaning into his shoulder that had stayed against her after he nudged her.

“Oh, Lizzie, I am well aware.” She turned to him then and saw him smiling slightly as he stared across the water. 

She smiled slightly, too. It was so nice sitting with him. She liked feeling him solidly against her. She liked smelling him and hearing him breathe and listening to his deep, textured voice. It was nice pretending for a minute that they were regular people at their summer cabin enjoying the moonlight. It could be romantic; if they were different people, it could be romantic. 

He was asking her to give up everything. He wanted her to be someone else, to leave everything behind so she could stay safe, so she could live. But, she needed to understand something that he had failed to mention. With her shoulder against his and a close-up view of his profile, she asked him what she was most afraid to know: “Red, if I agree to this, if I allow you to create a new life for me, will you be a part of it?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to those reading this story of mine. I appreciate every comment and kudo.

Chapter 7 

He continued to stare across the water, her question hanging heavily in the air between them. She watched his expression change in the minutest of ways in the silence, but what it settled on left her in no doubt of his answer. No. It was a no. He would not be a part of her new life. He would send her away as someone new, and that would be it. The end. Their past, only partly revealed to her, would remain forever cloudy and, likely, inaccurately remembered. Their current work with the blacklist and the taskforce would end. Their future would never exist. Who they were to each other wouldn’t matter. And, who they would become together – something she had often contemplated? They would become nothing. 

Their relationship, with all its mysteries, complexities, and challenges; its volatility and vulnerabilities; its potential and possibilities, would be over. 

Finally, he said what she already knew: “No, Lizzie. No. That can’t happen.” He paused and finally turned toward her. He looked pained as his eyes searched her face. She struggled to not give away what she was feeling; she didn’t want him to see what his answer was doing to her. 

His eyes finally stopped moving to settle on hers, and he continued, slowly and quietly: “I need you to understand – there is a way this works, and we will spend time discussing that. But, for right now understand that I have spent many years doing this. I am the very best there is; I can make people disappear and reappear like magic, but there is a method to it,” he paused again and shook his head emphatically. “And, this will not be successful if I deviate from that method. No matter how much I might want to.”

She drew her bottom lip into her mouth and bit into it with her teeth, working hard to stem the tide of emotion that threatened to consume her. The action kept her quiet. She didn’t want to shout at him, to yell, when she knew he thought he was helping her. When she felt a bit calmer, she spoke: “So, if I agree, when would I begin this new life?” 

“We could be ready in a few days,” he said, pursing his lips and nodding matter-of-factly.

“Where will I go? Who will I be,” she asked, evenly, without emotion.

“We’ve put together several options from which you may choose. Once you assume an identity, the other choices become backups, in case you need to alter your course down the line. I think you’ll find the options to your liking,” he said, looking at her skeptically. “If you’d like to go back to the cabin now, I can begin to show you what’s been put together. There is a lot to discuss.”

She nodded silently, looking away from him. 

So, this was Raymond Reddington at work – the real Raymond Reddington, not the FBI criminal informant Raymond Reddington, but the Concierge of Crime. This is what he had spent so much of his time doing over the past 20 years – getting people out of trouble, creating new lives for them, whisking them away from their problems, and giving them opportunities to start anew. Most of them had been criminals, almost certainly. Most of them were probably thrilled to have his assistance and expertise to guide them into a new future. Most of them didn’t know him personally. Most of them just paid him, thanked him and got the hell on with it. 

But, she wasn’t most of them. And, she felt bereft. His professional demeanor offended her, his calm explanation made her want to break things, and his resolve to keep this business as usual was so painful she wasn’t sure if she could manage to continue to sit beside him. She needed to be able to breathe, and it was getting harder and harder to do. 

She moved to unclasp her hand from his, but he held on tightly.

“Lizzie.”

“I want to back go inside,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “We can talk inside.”

“Lizzie,” his voice had deepened. 

She pulled at her hand again, and after a moment he released her. “I’m going inside.”

She turned and walked away from the glittering water, the moonlight and the dream of a romantic moment in the beautiful South Carolina wilderness. She moved slowly toward the cabin, where a future awaited, one she may or may not accept, and one that most certainly didn’t include Raymond Reddington. She might as well have surrendering herself to Molokovsky, because this alternative felt like a long, drawn out, most certain death, too.

* * * 

Lost in her own swirling, disjointed thoughts, she sat at the table waiting for him. He did not arrive quickly. In fact, he took quite a long time to return. Eventually, she heard the door open, and without looking up, she moved her theories and escape routes, both meaningless now, off the table to make room for the five portfolios he told her contained her possible futures. 

Red spent the next three hours going through each one with her – new names, family histories, educations, professions, job histories, locations and social histories, including former relationships, were put forth. 

He also spent time reviewing her medical records with her, confirming certain details that had been changed – the names of doctors, reasons behind certain visits to emergency rooms, the reasons for broken bones and contusions. He stressed the importance of including every detail of her medical history in these new records. Anything could prove important at some future time. He was careful to be thorough here. He asked if she had experienced any health issues that were not documented or took any non-prescribed medication. She looked at him, curiously, before saying, “No.”

Financial histories for each identity were detailed. She would have an excellent credit score, which was a plus. She balked at the amount of money in each bank account. She would be very comfortable, quite well off, no matter who she decided to be. He stressed that she must think of this as a version of witness protection. She was being made to leave her own bank account and assets behind; she was also leaving her job, with all its future earning potential, and needed to find new employment. That could take time. She also needed a home and furnishings. The money was necessary, and that was the end of that. 

There was so much more ground to cover, but the sun was nearly up, and Red proposed they stop, sleep, and continue in the afternoon. Liz nodded. Her throat was scratchy, and her eyes were itchy and red. Her head hurt from too much information, and she felt an ever-increasing weight on her chest the longer he talked. She was beyond exhausted, but she doubted she would sleep. There was too much to think about, too big a decision to make. 

He stood and picked up his suit jacket, raincoat and hat and moved toward the door. When she saw him preparing to leave, she began to panic. “Wait a minute,” she called, standing up as well. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll be back in a few hours. We both need sleep,” he said, and he did look so very tired.

“Where are you going to sleep is what I am asking you? What else is around here? I still don’t even know exactly where I am.”

“I have secured a safe house about 45 minutes from here. I’ve had my things brought there. I will stay there until … ,” he paused then and pulled on his coat. “Until we’re done,” he concluded.

“No way,” she said, shaking her head. “There is no way I am letting you leave me here again.”

“Lizzie, I’m too tired to argue with you,” he said, running his hand down his face. 

“Then don’t argue. You have two choices, Red. You either stay here with me or I come with you. Pick one,” she told him.

He sighed, “There is a nationwide search for you right now, Lizzie. You can’t go anywhere. You cannot be seen. It is a critical time. There is absolutely no way I would allow you to compromise this operation. That is why you can’t even leave this property. That is why the guards you have been trying so hard to evade are so important. You needed protection from the outside world, but mostly from yourself – from exposing yourself. We have gotten this far; we are not compromising this thing now.”

“What about you, Red? Aren’t they looking for you, too? How is it that you can be out and about? I have seen the newspapers. I know they are searching for you. You’re my supposed killer. Of the two of us, don’t you think it would be worse for you to be found,” she pressed him.

“No, I absolutely don’t think that. And, I know how to do this, Lizzie. I have lived like this for 20 years. I have made an art out of hiding in plain sight. I won’t be found,” he said, putting on his hat. 

“Okay. So, nothing changes for you. You just continue on, uninterrupted,” she shrugged, angry now, pissed at his cavalier attitude, at his seeming detachment. “How nice for you, Red. I am so glad this will be just a blip on your radar, a small bump in the road, something you can quickly put behind you and move on. I am so glad your ‘extra-legal’ criminal empire will continue to prosper with you at the helm. You will be able to continue to traipse about the world, having dinner with old friends in far flung corners and reigniting dalliances with old flames. Meanwhile, my life will have been obliterated. What little I could call my own – relationships, possessions, career – gone. Like that,” she said, snapping her fingers. She was unraveling before him, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. His eyes were wide, and his mouth partially opened, as if to speak but not sure how or when to interrupt her. “Nothing changes for you, and everything changes for me. You will have everything, and I will have nothing. And, no one,” she went on. “So, get comfortable, Red, because I have been alone here for eight days not knowing what was happening, not knowing whether you would ever return, or if I would ever be let go. You left me here with no answers and a million questions. I am not getting left here again. I am not getting left until it’s for good,” she told him firmly. 

He stared at her for a long moment. She stared right back, daring him to deny her this. Eventually, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, and she knew her stare was wearing him down. She noticed his long blond eyelashes dusting along the very tops of his cheeks. She noticed the slight dimpling of his distinct chin and the frown of his mouth. A mouth she now knew. And, she thought about his acceptance of being thought of as her killer by the world. He seemed to welcome the easy believability of that story; he didn’t entertain for a minute that anyone would second guess the truth of it and think him incapable of purposely doing damage to her. 

Her control over her own life had now boiled down to one decision – would she accept his offer of a new life or take her chances with her old one. She was quite sure he believed she was already convinced to accept his services. She wasn’t. He did put forth a convincing case; the new identities each held their own appeal. He had done well. But, there were other things to consider. Of all the terrible things he’d done, she didn’t want her murder to be thought of as one of them. She didn’t want that to be their legacy. Killer and victim. She couldn’t bear to leave it like that. 

When he opened his eyes, he took her in, all of her, as she stared at him, waiting. And he took off his coat and suit jacket and draped them back over a chair. He put his hat back on the table. As she watched, he toed off his shoes and unbuttoned and took off his vest. He untucked his shirt and unbuttoned it, sliding it off his shoulders. She swallowed. He unbuckled his belt and slid it through his pant loops. He carelessly threw it behind him and bent to take off his socks, which ended up next to his belt. Next, he began unbuttoning his pants. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. When he unzipped them, she made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded either like a protest or an encouragement, she wasn’t even sure which. The trousers slid down his legs to reveal black boxer briefs. He picked the pants up and placed them on the chair over his jacket. And, there he stood in a white t-shirt and boxers looking at her. 

She continued to stare at him, her expression a cross between shocked and confused. 

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Did you imagine I slept in a suit, too, Lizzie,” he asked, smiling gently at her. 

He moved toward her, and she stood paralyzed, nervous about his intentions. But, he only walked past her to the bathroom. When he closed the door, she let out a big breath and shook her head. She did ask for this; she couldn’t be left alone there again. She wouldn’t be able to handle that. He saw that, she supposed, and he had acquiesced. That was good. But, it was also a surreal experience to have Raymond Reddington undress in front of her, to watch him prepare for bed, to know he would be staying with her. She hadn’t thought it through, hadn’t considered the particulars of sharing that small space with him. And, she hadn’t thought of him undressing, of all the things she had thought of in regards to him, she’d never thought of him in such a domestic, ordinary way. 

Somehow it made her want to cry. It made all of this more real, more personal. It couldn't be more personal to her, but now, if it hadn’t been already, she was making sure it was also personal to him. And, he was just a man, a man whose life had gone very wrong a long time ago, and she believed, at least in regards to her, he was always trying to make up for that fact. He wanted to help her live, but partly because he blamed himself for her current situation, and she didn’t completely understand why. And, she needed to understand.

He came out of the bathroom and paused. She was still standing in the same place. He walked slowly toward her, carrying with him the fragrance of soap and toothpaste. “The bathroom is all yours if you need it,” he said softly, when he stood right in front of her. 

She blinked hard and nodded, walking to the room without looking at him. She performed her nightly routine quickly and returned to find him under the covers in bed, turned on his side away from her. Her heartbeat quickened at the sight of him. So domestic, so real. There he was in the most comfortable bed she’d ever known, giving her something she needed – his presence. And, she was so tired and so grateful. And, no matter what happened next, she thought maybe she would sleep tonight. 

So, she took off her shirt to reveal a tank top. She took off her socks. And, she climbed into bed beside him. She faced his back into the darkness, her head on the pillow and sheets up to her chin for warmth. She sighed. "Goodnight, Red."

"Goodnight, Lizzie. Sleep well," he said, without turning toward her.

And, she did. 

When she woke, light was streaming through the thin curtains on the windows. It was the strong sunlight of midday. She stretched luxuriously without opening her eyes. Oh, she was so comfortable and warm. She moaned as she concluded her stretch. And, oh, oh, Red. Red was in her bed. Lying on her stomach, head half buried under a pillow, she reached her arm across the span of the mattress, hoping to touch a part of him, any part, to make sure he was there. But, her wandering fingers came up empty, feeling only cool sheets where a body should be. She opened her eyes. No. No. No. He did not leave her again. He. Did. Not. Leave. Her. Again. She flipped onto her back, and quickly sat up. And, then, she gasped.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has gotten bigger than I ever expected, and I thank all of you who are sticking with it. At this point, I think there might be about four more chapters after this one, but you never know. This seems to have a life of its own. I am along for the ride. Thanks for reading, commenting and sending kudos. All of that makes me happy!

Chapter 8

He sat on a chair placed directly at the foot of the bed, legs crossed, hands clasped in his lap. He looked comfortable, settled in, relaxed. His gaze was steady; he was watching her. 

“Red, what are you doing,” she asked, breathing heavily. 

He smiled gently at her. “I won’t leave without telling you, Lizzie,” he said, calmly. “I promise you.” 

“Yeah, okay,” she said, taking a deep breath and trying to regulate her heartbeat. Had she said something aloud? Or had he just been watching her? Had he seen her hand creep to his side of the bed? Sensed her panic at coming up empty? She flushed, embarrassed by how transparent she must be to him, how desperate. “How long have you been awake,” she asked, trying to move past his statement but still figure out what he was up to. 

“A while,” he said, and she noticed he was dressed in new clothes. There was no sign of the suit from last night anywhere. 

“Why didn’t you wake me,” she asked, flustered by his quiet attention. 

“There was no need,” he said, his eyes moving over her methodically. “You are a very sound sleeper, Lizzie. Honestly, I’m jealous. I’ve lost that ability. You barely move in the night – no tossing and turning, no waking and staring at the walls for indeterminate periods. Just a deep, peaceful steady sleep that is impressive,” he said, with eyes caressing her hair, her face, her neck, before ever so slowly wandering lower. She remembered she was wearing her light blue tank top and felt it stretched tight across her chest. It left little to the imagination, and he was looking. And, he knew she knew he was. And, he appeared unapologetic about it, brazen even. And, heaven help her, it felt like being kissed by him all over again. 

He was blasting the lines in the sand all to hell, apparently, and he was letting her know it. Maybe because there was nothing to lose anymore, and all the cards could be put on the table. Maybe that’s what he was thinking. What was he thinking? But, really, it was what he was doing to her – with those assessing, curious eyes – that mattered. She shivered. 

And she could see by the look on his face the moment her goosebumps reached her breasts. She inhaled sharply and opened her mouth to berate him when he spoke, his voice low and hypnotic, his eyes alight and now looking into hers: “You do mumble in your sleep, though, Lizzie. A good bit, actually.”

“What? No, I don’t,” she said, somewhat horrified.

“Mmmm,” he said, tilting his head side to side and standing up. “We can agree to disagree on that for now. I’ve made us some lunch, so if you’d like to join me on the porch shortly, we can get the day started.”

He turned and walked into the kitchen, where he picked up a tray loaded with sandwiches and fruit and drinks and carried them outside. He was so good at deflection, so very good. It was another of his art forms. 

She sat in bed a minute, trying to wrap her head around the fact that she had been observed by him while she slept. What had she looked like? And, what had she said? And, what had he just done to her? He never looked at her like that – with such blatant interest. It was too much for her still-sleepy brain to handle. She needed coffee. She looked at the clock. It was already 1 p.m. – half the day was gone. That’s what happens when you go to bed at about 5 a.m. 

***

His attention made her forget – for a little while – her circumstances. Their lunch on the porch was relaxed and comfortable. She had eaten alone for days, never enjoying a meal. She had eaten for strength, for energy, for something to do, and now she had a companion. Red plied her full of tall tales along with his delicious turkey sandwiches. The weather had warmed a bit, and the view of the lake was lovely. It was a struggle to remember why they were really there. So, after she finished eating, feeling light and inspired, she asked if he would like to take a walk around the lake with her; she would show him her favorite spot. 

He sighed and looked past her for a moment. “I would like that very much, Lizzie, but we are a little behind schedule. I propose we work for a while now and take that walk later,” he said, raising his eyebrows in question. 

“Oh. Yes, of course,” she agreed, working to hide her disappointment. 

And, just like that, the break from reality was over. 

Red wasted no time getting down to business. He reiterated that their time was limited; he needed to get back to work soon. Nothing could appear suspicious to his business associates, nothing that would lead them to think he had done anything other than what had been reported. And, she needed to begin anew as soon as possible. 

“I need you to decide on an identity by the end of the day, Lizzie. Review everything again, ask any questions, no matter how small, and try to envision yourself as that person, feel it, put yourself in that place. Find what fits best. Location is important; career is important. A lot of the rest is just you with a new name and backstory,” he coached her. “There will be things I’ll need to review with you once you’ve decided, but I think it might be best if you took some time alone to make this decision.”

She nodded, feeling slightly queasy. Then he stood and stared out at the lake for a minute. Finally, he placed his hands in his pockets and slowly turned back to her. She was still seated in her chair, and he looked down at her and sighed, pursing his lips. He was dreading telling her something; that was plain enough for her to see. 

“What is it,” she asked quietly. 

He took a deep breath and told her: “The authorities are going to find your body today. After that, we should move fast. The search for you will stop, energy will be put elsewhere. You can then be transitioned more easily. But, it is important that we move before anything happens to upset the plan. The question about what happened to you will be answered. The case will be closed, and it needs to stay that way.”

She had stopped listening after his first sentence. “What body? Who is it? What did you do, Red?”

“We didn’t harm anyone, Lizzie, if that is what concerns you. Someone closely matching your description died two days ago. We assumed the body. A tip has been placed. I would expect the police to find her within the hour,” he said. “My people will make sure the rest works as we need it to. The body will be conclusively identified as yours when it is found. Evidence will be left to ascertain who the killer was as well. ”

“My God! Who is this woman? What about her family?” She was beside herself.

“She has no family. She was a prostitute. No one is looking for her. I am not heartless. She will be buried in a more loving way as you than she would have been as herself.”

“That’s sick. All of it is sick. I don’t want you to do this. Do you hear me? Don’t do this.” She had stood up and walked to him. 

“It’s done. It needed to be done. You would not be free if the search for you continued. It would make all of this … much more difficult,” he explained, gesturing around him with his hands. 

Without a word she walked away from him. She went inside and got the portfolios. She grabbed a sweater and headed for the lake. She didn’t want to talk to him anymore. She didn’t want to be a part of this, and the longer she stayed here the worse it got. She would choose an identity like he wanted. She would go through the motions of this dog and pony show, but then, when she was allowed to leave, when she was left to her own devices again, she would do what the hell she needed to do. She didn’t want to die, she didn’t want him to be her killer, and she certainly didn’t want some poor young woman in the wrong grave. If her time with him was going to end soon, she assumed he would truly let her go – no watching her, no having her watched. But, to get to freedom of any kind, she had to manipulate the manipulator. And, she could do that. If she kept her head on straight, if she remembered who she really was, she could do that.  


***  
After several hours she returned to the cabin to find him at the table working from a laptop. Obviously he had had some of his things brought there from the safe house. She slapped a portfolio down on the table in front of him. “This is the one I want,” she said, moving past him to the bathroom.

She proceeded to take a very long shower, shaving her legs and conditioning her hair, to kill time but also to prepare herself both physically and mentally for leaving. Afterwards she dried her hair, plucked her eyebrows, filed her nails – she hadn’t done any of that since she had gotten there. She also tended to the cuts on her legs, putting some antibiotic ointment on them. 

When she was finally done, the sun was setting, and Red was nowhere to be found. She walked out onto the porch to see him talking to the guard with the voice. When he noticed her, he excused himself and approached. “Lizzie, how about that walk now,” he asked, pleasantly. 

“No, thanks,” she said, turning back toward the cabin door. 

“I’d like to cover some things regarding your choice, so, please, join me,” he encouraged.

She scoffed at him. Manipulator. “Well, when you put it that way,” she said, sarcastically.

They walked down to the lake quietly, distantly – a far cry from last night’s fighting, tears, and hand-holding. 

After they had walked about half a mile around the lake and the sun had all but set, Red finally spoke: “I’m surprised at your choice, Lizzie. Of all the identities put forth to you, that is the last one I thought you would pick.”

“Well, what does it matter to you? I picked one, now let’s move forward with this,” she said, not looking at him. 

“I’d like to know why you chose that one.”

“I listened to your advice, and then I picked one, Red,” she said, evenly. They continued walking at a steady pace. 

“Tell me why,” he insisted.

“I have my reasons. I’d rather not share them.”

“What are you playing at, Lizzie? Do you still think it wise to try to get out of this at this juncture? To go back to being Elizabeth Keen? That can’t happen. It is not going to happen. I thought we had moved past this,” he said, his voice rising. He was frustrated with her, angry even.

“I did as you asked. I am not sure why we are having a problem,” she answered, without emotion. 

He moved in front of her, blocking her way forward, and for the first time since she’d met him, he directed true anger towards her. “You are a terrible liar, Lizzie. Terrible. My God! But, this lie? This lie, this game you are playing with me? It will get you captured or killed, likely both; there will be no other outcomes. You need to listen to me like you’ve never listened before. Stop trying to get out of this! Stop it! There isn’t another way. Believe me. I have looked for it. I wanted anything but this. But, this is where we are, however unpleasant, however disgusting. So, you need to stop trying to play me, Elizabeth, because it’s never going to work.” By the end, he was yelling. He had never yelled at her. He had been disappointed, upset, cross and condescending, but still he had never addressed her like this. She didn’t like it. She did not do well faced with the full force of his ire. Her eyes welled with tears. She was a wimp. A coward. And, he was right – a terrible liar. But, he had no reason to believe she chose inappropriately.

“I made a choice …” she started.

“No. You and I both know that is not your first choice. That is the choice of a person who is planning to sabotage this whole operation,” he said, shaking his head. 

“How can you possibly know that,” she asked, willing her tears not to fall. 

“Because I know you, Elizabeth,” he said, emphasizing every word and finally lowering his voice. “I know you.” 

“No, you d---,” she started.

“Yes, I do,” he said, with conviction, gently grasping her upper arms with his hands. “I know you as well as anyone ever has or ever will. I know your favorite foods, your favorite fragrances, your favorite flowers, your hobbies, your college GPA, your first love, your first heartbreak, your favorite color when you were a girl, I know why you really wanted to join the FBI, I know what you are afraid of, I know how truly fierce you are, how loyal and loving, how gentle your heart is, and how much you deserve a good life – the best life, Lizzie. Don’t sabotage this chance to have it.”

His eyes shone in the darkness, wide and wild and set on hers, imploring her to listen, to hear him. And, she felt his desperation, his entreaty, and she knew the truth. She finally got it – she finally understood that he hated what was happening to them, too. He hated this as much as she did. She understood that the sacrifice was not only hers. She understood that his distance, his detachment, his professionalism hid something else. That he was losing something, too. His life would not carry on unscathed at all. She understood that by saving her he was destroying something, too – something he wanted, had hoped for. And, she hurt for him, for them, for the future they wouldn’t have. So, she gently put her hands on his arms. “Alicia. Alicia Ramsey would have been my first choice,” she said, as tears spilled delicately onto her cheeks. 

“I know. I know,” he said, softly, turning them back in the direction of the cabin; his hand at her elbow, he guided her. 

***

When she got ready for bed that night, she worried he wouldn’t stay, that maybe he would want some distance from her. She had upset him, and she had been upset by him. It had been a draining day, but as much as she longed for it to end, she wanted time to stop, because every day and every night took her closer to leaving him behind. And now, if she went through with this, he would be the last person to see her for her. He would be the last person to talk to Elizabeth Keen. And, she wanted to talk to him, to know him as he knew her. She needed that to make up for the rest of the world’s ugly interpretation of him. She needed it for herself, to feel better about allowing this to happen. She needed it to take with her, to hold onto for later. She needed it for them. 

She walked out of the bathroom, and her throat tightened at the sight of him –under the covers, on his side, just like last night. She slipped in beside him and turned off the lamp. 

She faced him, like last night, but tonight, she didn’t want his back to look at or sleep to take her. She wanted him.

“Red?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has gotten in the way of my continuation of this story, but here is another chapter - finally. Happy Easter!

Chapter 9 

"Yes?"

"What was your favorite food when you were a kid," she asked quietly.

"What?" He turned onto his back then and looked at her.

The room was dark, but the curtains were thin, and the moon was full. She could see his fatigue in his eyes and the fix of his mouth after he asked his question, but it wasn't time to sleep yet. She needed him now, and she hoped with everything in her that he would be agreeable, accepting of her desire for him, for who he was.

"Will you tell me?" She asked again, her hands cradling her face on the pillow. 

He looked in her eyes for a moment, searching. She sensed his reluctance, expected it, and held her breath.

After a moment, he licked his lips and answered confidently: "My mother's spaghetti and meatballs."

She exhaled and nodded. "Was she a good cook?"

"Excellent."

"Will you tell me a little about her?"

He hesitated and stared above her head for a minute, his eyes clouded and unfocused. Finally, he returned his gaze to her and slowly spoke: "She was gentle, kind and so, so patient. She was sharp, quick witted. She was especially funny after a little wine when friends were over. She never yelled, never seemed put out, just the most wonderful woman I have ever known." He stopped then and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he smiled a small smile and said, "No one has asked me about her in a long time. She died many years ago; before I began this life. I’m grateful for that."

She smiled gently back at him, her eyes sleepy and warm. She sighed, “She sounds wonderful. I used to want a mother. So badly. I loved Sam so much, but I saw my friends with their moms- shopping, getting their hair done for prom, decorating their rooms, regular stuff, but it seemed so foreign to me- that gentleness, that kind of care.”

“Lizzie,” he said, full of concern and sadness.

“No, no, Red. It’s okay. Please. We’re just talking. Sharing. I was very lucky in Sam. He was everything to me. He was great. But, maybe that’s part of why I wanted to be a mother of an adopted child. I wanted to give that to someone who might otherwise not have it. I have never consciously thought of it that way before, but that feels true.”

Red hesitated for a moment; she could see the conflict in his eyes: “Lizzie, may I ask you something rather personal? If you choose not to answer, I understand.”

“Okay,” she nodded, more curious than concerned. What did she really have to hide from him at this point?

He turned on his side, mimicking her position. His hands cradling his face on the pillow just like her. “I’ve had to look through all of your medical files, because of our situation. I did not see any record of you ever taking birth control pills, nor did I see a record of tests for fertility issues. Can I assume you used other methods of birth control and are healthy and able, if you choose, to have a child of your own?” He asked, looking at her very seriously.

She was surprised by his inquiry, not sure why this mattered to him or to anything really. But, she was not disinclined to answer. Again, what did it matter now? She believed at this point she would tell him anything. “I, uhm, no, I never took the pill. I used other methods when I was younger with the few relationships I had. None of those were long-term relationships, so it wasn’t a hardship. With Tom, he seemed okay using condoms. I offered to get on the pill, but he didn’t really want me to. He said it might affect how I felt, and it wasn’t the healthiest option. I am assuming he had other reasons now; maybe he preferred having that barrier between us most of the time. Although, there were definitely times I could have gotten pregnant. We were not perfect with using something every time. There were times I did question whether I could get pregnant, times I thought it was a real possibility. But, I never did, and I didn’t really want to, so it wasn’t an issue. Why do you ask?” She thought maybe she gave him more information than he wanted or needed, because he looked distressed. “Why does this matter?”

“Lizzie, in the future, if you decide to have children, it would be best if you had them naturally. Adoption could be problematic. A lot of questions are asked, your past delved into.  
It wouldn’t be the safest route to motherhood. I wanted to make sure you were healthy, that you would be able to conceive on your own,” he said. “If you’d like I can have a doctor of mine run some tests.”

“Red, I doubt I will pursue motherhood in the future,” she said, honestly, matter-of-factly.

“Don’t say that, Lizzie,” he said, looking stricken. “Don’t close off that possibility. You will have a full life. Children can and should be a part of that. You will make a wonderful mother. Remain open to it.” 

She shook her head at him, “I don’t think so, Red, but thank you for thinking about it. Now, tell me what you liked to play when you were a little boy. What kind of mischief did young Raymond Reddington get into?”

He frowned at her and her change of subject. She could see his desire to push her on this, but it would be pointless. She could barely imagine going forward, much less ever having children – children she would have to lie to and pretend with, children who would never know her past. Her future seemed nothing but a dark abyss, incomprehensible and alien. If forced to peer into that unknown, she could only come up with anxiety and a most certain loneliness as companions. No, she wanted to look behind her for a little while longer, not ahead. So, she pushed him before he could push her: “Come on, Red. Tell me about you as a little boy.” 

He gave in to her sad, beautiful eyes, her gaze so expectant on him: “Well, you will be surprised to find out that I was actually a very good boy. I minded very well. I never wanted to disappoint my father. That kept me on the straight and narrow. He was a Navy man, a disciplinarian with a strong code of ethics. I respected him and loved him. So, I rarely got into trouble, but I was very active. I liked to build things – forts, traps. Cops and robbers, we played a lot of that; we played war – all that kind of stuff. Running and chasing, climbing trees. When I forced to be still, I liked to listen to baseball games on the radio, put model airplanes or cars together,” he explained. He finally stopped, looking a little bit shocked at how forthcoming he had been. 

“I am not all that surprised,” she said, sleepily. 

“Tell me what you liked to do most as a girl, Lizzie?” 

“Don’t you already know, Red? Don’t you know me through and through,” she joked.

“I don’t know everything. Tell me,” he asked coaxingly. His voice was so soothing, and his eyes, heavy lidded but brighter than a few minutes ago, were compelling. She was pleased with him; he was being so cooperative and open. She wanted to be seen by him; she wanted him to know her and how she felt about him. And, right now, she was pleased with his transparency. She knew he knew that, and the revelation was relaxing him before her eyes. “Tell me,” he repeated.

She nodded at his request, shivering slightly at his deep voice, and said so quietly: “I liked to explore. In the backyard or the woods near our house. I would dig and collect things and make up stories about what I’d find. I liked to climb trees and read books while sitting on big branches. I liked to swim and fish with Sam. I liked to draw. I had notebooks full of sketches,” she stopped, and licked her lips, excited and nervous to say these things to him, but then, by the look on his face, he already knew most of them. “Did I tell you anything new?”

He nodded and swallowed. “Yes.”

“What,” she asked, not quite believing him.

“It is one thing for Sam to tell me about you, but it is a completely different experience to hear it from you. To hear what was important to you, to hear what stands out to you when you look back, is a new experience. Thank you,” he said.

“This is nice, Red. I like this. And, there is so much more I want to ask you, and we have so little time,” she said, her blinks long and slow. “Tell me a good story about you as a teenager.”

As he delved into a colorful tale of a camping trip gone awry, full of rain and impending wild animals and angry bugs and poor navigation, she fell asleep. She watched him until her blinks stopped and her eyes were too heavy to open. Then she just listened, asking him slurred questions every now and again, so he would keep talking. Finally, her tongue and mouth wouldn’t cooperate. In her last moments of consciousness, she felt his fingers in her hair, combing through it ever so gently. He was still talking, and it was so melodic and hypnotic and perfect. And, she sighed his name, a breath, a whisper, a prayer. His hand and his words stopped, but a slight movement of her legs toward him set his hand and mouth back in motion. He was the last thing she heard that night. 

***

When she woke, he was already gone from the bed, but she no longer worried that he had left her. She got up and found him on the porch peering over some papers. She took her time inside and got some coffee then a quick shower. She joined him eventually, comfortably dressed and relaxed, happy to see him and talk to him. She was feeling very warm towards him; she guessed it was residual good will from last night. She liked it, the quickening of her heart at the sight of him, the butterflies in her stomach when he looked at her and said good morning. She liked it a lot. 

“You look rested and fresh,” he said, smiling at her.

“Thank you. I did sleep well. Did you,” she asked, sitting down in the chair next to his. 

“I did, actually,” he nodded. And, he did look rested as well. He looked healthy. 

“What are you doing?” She gestured toward the papers on the table in front of him. 

“I’d like to start talking about Alicia Ramsey. We have a lot to go over, and there’s not a lot of time to prepare,” he said, followed by a deep breath and widening of the eyes. He was asking her without words if she was ready, if this was okay. She could see his trepidation. She wondered if he was reluctant to move past the nice bubble of last night. She was. But, she understood more now, understood that he was doing what needed to be done rather than what he wanted to do.

“Yes, let’s get started. I slept late again. Sorry,” she said, with an apologetic smile. “You should have woken me.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, looking out at the lake. “I won’t do that.” He didn’t elaborate, and she wondered if he had watched her again, like yesterday. She wondered if doing that brought him some measure of comfort. If it did, then she would happily sleep late every morning until they left this place. 

“Okay. What do you have here?” She asked, drawing him back. He turned to her then and blinked quickly a few times. Then, they were down to business. 

Alicia Ramsey would live in Perth, Australia. An English-speaking country would make the transition easier, and Perth was one of the world’s most isolated major cities. It would provide protection from those who may still dare to look for Elizabeth Keen. It would also be more unlikely for Liz to be recognized in a country so far from the U.S., where her picture had been plastered all over the news. 

Alicia, an only child, has deceased parents who enjoyed visiting Australia when she was a child. She has a fondness for the country, but has never visited Perth. She wants a fresh start, so she is moving to Australia while she is still young and unattached. She has had boyfriends but not a serious relationship since college, where she dated her boyfriend for three years before they broke up upon graduation. Her parents died within two years of each other, her mother first, then her father two years ago. The time seemed right to move on from her past. 

Alicia had a doctorate in psychology. Her resume is impressive; having taught at the university level for six years, she has published and presented a number of papers and has received accolades from her department chairs and former students. She hopes to garner a position at a local university in Perth, of which there are several. 

Alicia loves the water; that was part of Perth’s appeal. She would look for a home on the Indian Ocean or on the lake. Seeing the water everyday would be soothing to Alicia. She would spare no expense for the right home. 

There was more – the logistics of getting Liz to Perth; acquainting her with Alicia’s full history, documents, and assets; signing papers; destroying all of Elizabeth Keen’s current paper trail (meaning what she had with her – her driver’s license, social security card, various credit cards, library card, check book and debit card.); and, finally, changing her appearance, something Liz hadn’t really considered. 

“What do you mean? Change my look how,” she asked, nervously. They had been talking for several hours and had moved down to the lake about an hour ago. They had chairs by the water, and Liz had a blanket on her lap to ward off the cool breeze. The early afternoon sun was strong, and Red was wearing his sunglasses, so she couldn’t see his eyes clearly when he surveyed her for a moment and then responded.

“Wait here, Lizzie,” he said, standing up and moving back toward the cabin. 

“Where are you going?” He didn’t answer, so she waited, concerned. 

He returned about fifteen minutes later. By then, she was watching a bird that kept jumping from tree to tree and lost in her own thoughts. His hands on her shoulders surprised her. “Lizzie, hand me your blanket,” he said, softly.

“Why? What are you doing?” She tried to turn toward him, but his hands on her shoulders prevented her from turning fully. 

“I am going to cut your hair. Now, hand me the blanket,” he said, motioning toward it. 

“What? No, you’re not. Are you crazy? Red –,“ she stopped when he reached forward and got the blanket off her lap himself. He draped it across her and clipped it behind her neck with what she could only assume was her own hair clip. 

“Relax, Lizzie. Despite my current lack of luxurious locks, I was once blessed with quite a mane. I learned how to tame it myself years ago out of necessity. Yours will be easy. We need to go short. Prepare yourself,” he said easily. 

“You must be joking! Come on, Red. Really. I don’t want to leave here looking like a freak. I can cut my own hair, actually. I’ve done it once. It came out fine,” she was panicked and tried to rise from the chair. 

“No. Lizzie, let me. It’s easier to have someone else do it, especially when the change needs to be considerable,” he said, his fingers now brushing through her hair, detangling it and massaging her scalp as he went. He was taking the fight out of her with his ministrations. 

“Be careful, for goodness' sake, then. Please,” she begged. 

“Of course,” he answered. He bent down and retrieved something that he then placed in her lap. A shaving kit, his. “Hold this and hand me the comb.”

She did, and he began brushing her hair. It was all she could do to keep from moaning. It felt wonderful. He was gentle and thorough, and she felt herself unwinding to a dangerous degree. When he finally finished, satisfied with the results, he asked her for the small empty plastic bottle in his kit. When she handed it to him, he walked to the water and filled it. He returned and carefully poured it on her head. It made her yelp. “Red, it’s cold,” she squealed. 

He used the blanket to prevent the water from wetting her body, but it did drip down her neck and chest to a small degree. “Sorry, but it is easier to cut damp hair,” he explained. 

Then, he brushed it out again, and, finally, asked for the scissors. 

She handed them over, but before letting them go, she reiterated: “Carefully, Red.”

And, he cut her hair, slowly, with the water glistening in front of them, the sun beaming above and the grass at their feet. After a little while, she closed her eyes. She had handed herself over to him now, and she could only hope for the best. He, surprisingly, didn’t talk while he worked. There was only the snip, snip, snipping sound of the cutting shears, their breathing, the birds chirping and the water lapping. 

“Lizzie,” he finally spoke gently. “I am done. Open your eyes.” 

She did as he was removing the blanket from around her. He folded it up and carried it away from her. When he was a safe distance, he opened it and shook it out. She stood, and as he walked back to her, she raised her arms and allowed her hands to touch her hair. She gasped. “It’s so short.”

He was looking at her intently, examining his handy work while taking in her expression. “Let’s go in, so you can have a look,” he suggested.

They walked back in silence. When they reached the cabin, she made a beeline for the bathroom and the mirror. She turned on the light and slowly lifted her head. What she saw filled her with a strange kind of joy. And, she started to laugh and laugh heartily, in a way she hadn’t in a long time. He appeared behind her with concern in his eyes. “Lizzie?”

“Red, you did well,” she said through her laughter. “I am impressed. Wow. You really knew what you were doing. I can’t believe it. You are a man of many talents. I haven’t had my hair this short since college. It makes me feel. I, I don’t know if I can fully explain what it makes me feel. Wow.”

He hadn’t said a word; he just stood behind her watching her in the mirror as she looked at herself and him with laughter on her face, in her eyes, and in his ears.

“Well,” she said, staring at him in the mirror. “What do you think?”

He licked his lips and swallowed. He held her eyes in the mirror. “I think you are amazingly sexy.”

Her laughter died in her throat, and her breath left her body as she stared at him. “Red,” she whispered. 

“Amazingly sexy, unbelievably beautiful, utterly perfect,” he continued, his voice awe-filled, deep and resonant in the very small room.

She turned toward him, shaking, with a question in her eyes. “Is this what you think of me right now or always?”

“Always, Lizzie. Then, now, forever,” he admitted, almost looking resigned to the truth rather than inspired by it. He looked ashamed, she realized. And, that – no. That would not do. 

“When I kissed you, Red? When we kissed? I have never felt like that. I have never wanted something so, so much. Don’t you know, Red? Don’t you have an idea of what I feel for you?” She asked this as she closed the small distance between them. 

“You are so young and so very good,” he said, and it sounded almost like a hum in his throat rather than words in the air. She knew what he was trying to do, but she would not be convinced of their incompatibility, nor would she let him convince himself any more than he had already.

“I want to kiss you again, Red. Let’s kiss again,” she said, even as she moved closer. She was prepared to kiss him, to be the one to initiate things, to show him that he had no reason to hold back, no reason to be ashamed, when he grabbed her and pulled her to him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone. Your kudos and comments mean so much. I appreciate every one of them. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter 10

Red gripped her waist and pulled her flush against him. Her gasp of surprise was captured by his mouth, all demanding lips and questing tongue. He kissed her deeply, with a thoroughness that made their first kiss seem tentative. She had no chance to get her bearings. His talented mouth was ruthless in its assault of hers. And, as much as she had been preparing to kiss him, she found herself ill-equipped to deal with the onslaught of a Raymond Reddington in pursuit of his desires. He was absolutely in control – of the situation, of her –, and his skill was undeniable. All she could do was hold onto him, her arms wound securely around his neck, and moan her pleasure, although she was completely unaware of performing either action. With him, she was all feelings and instinct, and the instinct to go further and quickly was strong. There was only instinct and a lone solidified thought going round and round her highly aroused brain: “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

When he finally moved from her mouth, she felt liquefied. He kissed her chin, which she found insanely erotic, before beginning to place open-mouthed, slow, wet kisses down her throat to her chest. When he reached the top of her shirt, he growled in frustration and made his way slowly back up the side of her neck. When he began kissing behind her ear, he said, “I’m not.”

She shivered at the sensitive spot he’d found and continued to pursue, thanks to her reaction. “What,” she managed to ask, her head tilted back and her eyes closed. 

He stopped kissing her then, pulling away with effort. The few inches between them and the absence of his amazing mouth was enough to make her open her eyes. And when she did what she saw on his face caused her to inhale sharply. He looked deeply aroused and deadly serious. “I’m not stopping. You said don’t stop. I’m not, Lizzie. I’m not stopping,” he said, his voice gravely and shaky with restraint. 

“I didn’t - I, uhmm, I didn’t know I said that out loud,” she said, licking her swollen lips, looking dazed.

“You did, and I’m not,” he answered, looking at her lips a moment before leaning in to kiss them again, slowly, gently, speaking in between caressing her mouth with his. “I’m not stopping. Do you understand? I’m not stopping unless you tell me to.”

“I don’t want you to,” she said tightening her arms around him, kissing him back. “Don’t stop. Red, don’t ever stop.”

She felt his fingers move down from her waist to grip the hem of her shirt. He only broke away from her mouth long enough to swiftly lift it over her head and throw it on the floor. Once her arms had been moved from around his neck, and she gained some semblance of clarity about the possibilities before her, she began to unbutton his shirt. He had done away with some of his usual formality over the past few days. He was dressing in button-down shirts and suit pants, no vest, no suit jacket, no hat. Good, she thought. Quicker, easier. 

When she pushed it off of his shoulders, he helped her the rest of the way, throwing it aside when he finally got the cuffs undone. He took the chance to look at her then, standing before him in her pink lacy bra and jeans and boots, breathing heavily. “You are a vision, Lizzie. Breathtaking, and we’ve only just started,” he said, his voice so, so deep. He looked at her with both deference and desire, and it rendered her speechless. For the moment, she could only look at him and hope what he saw on her face reflected what she felt – excitement, awe, fear, overwhelming need, devotion. His eyes moved from her face down her body, and he shook his head and clucked his tongue when he got to her feet. “Boots. We need them off,” he stated. 

With one hand on her bare stomach, he leaned her back against the sink in the small confines of the bathroom and bent down to help her take her boots off. She put her hands on either side of the sink and watched him. Once he had untied and thrown the boots to the side and stood up, she grabbed him by the front of the pants and pulled him to her. 

“Thank you, but that took too long,” she whispered, already at his mouth, kissing him even as she tightened her grip at his belt buckle. He was leaning into her, and her back was pushing painfully into the sink. She had a vision of the last time they had kissed with Red backed against a table. One of them was always backed into something, essentially trapped by the other – someone pushing, someone pulling. Her mind went to another place – a seduction, a Milonga, a Tango, one wanting what the other had, a negotiation, boundaries established and obliterated, lust and desire, anger and fear, and wanting, wishing, longing. They were all of it, embodied all of it, experienced all of it, and more, more, more. 

She unbuckled his belt and slowly pulled it from his pants. She stopped kissing him long enough to watch as the last bit of leather came loose from the last belt loop. She bit her lip, holding the belt in her hand a moment and looking into his eyes. They held curiosity and mischief and an invitation for her to do whatever she chose. She liked that; she would remember that for later. For now, she threw the belt on the floor and made quick work of unbuttoning his pants. But, the zipper? Unzipping his zipper? She had difficulty watching him do it the first night he had slept there with her, but doing it for him, feeling him beneath it? It made her already shaky fingers quiver and her lower belly tighten to an uncomfortable degree. She felt lightheaded. She closed her eyes, her hand against him: “Breathe. Breathe.”

“Lizzie? Lizzie, look at me,” he said gently. She opened her eyes and raised her head to look at him. “We can stop. Forget what I said before. We can stop. Anytime.”

He looked so worried. And, that’s not what she wanted at all. It was the opposite. She never wanted to stop. He, this, was overwhelmingly real, personal, true and right. But, she wasn’t in a position mentally or physically to tell him all of that right now. She just needed him to know that they were okay, that they needed to keep going, that she could keep going if she just remembered to breathe. 

So, she shook her head and told him the simplest truths: “There’s no stopping. I just – Red, I just want you, this – so much. I’m, I’m, I just need to breathe and take your pants off.”

He started chuckling then, an honest-to-goodness deep and real chuckle. She frowned at him, but he looked so pleased and happy, so truly charmed by her, that she couldn’t help but shake her head at him and laugh at herself a little, too. 

“Allow me to help,” he said, and unzipped and stepped out of his pants before she could blink. Then, with a swiftness that surprised her, he grabbed and lifted her up by her bottom, and she immediately hooked her legs around his waist. He began walking out of the room, whispering in her ear: “I’ve had enough of this bathroom. Let’s go to bed, Lizzie.”

*** 

They made love three times that night. The first time, which really took place in the late afternoon, was full of revelations and desperation. The late afternoon sun shining through the curtains left little to the imagination. They were revealed to one another in the light of day, and so it was that Lizzie encountered the scars on Red’s back. They had stripped one another of their remaining clothes, and her searching hands felt him, and she stopped, looking him in the eyes, as he hovered above her, questioning, knowing, asking, “Red? Oh, Red.” 

“Yes, Lizzie,” he answered what he knew she was asking. 

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. Her hands moved over the expanse of his back. Her heart squeezed tight, she let out a sob, “Oh, God, Red. Red.”

He kissed her cheeks, taking her falling tears away with him. “Hey, we’re okay,” he assured her, trying to pull her back to the present. “Later, Lizzie, we’ll talk about it. Later. But, hey, hey,” he coaxed her gently to pay attention to him, to his eyes, to what he was saying, before she spiraled down a path that led deep into their shared past. “Lizzie, think only about right now for me. Can you do that?” She nodded, unable to speak, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “Think for a minute about how very much I desire you, how soft I think your skin is, how stunning I think you look on top of these white sheets, bared to me, with the sun hitting you just right, think about what a memory you are creating in my mind, the most perfect memory. And, then, Lizzie?”

She was mesmerized by his voice, his words. “Yes?”

“I don’t want you to think anymore,” he said, shaking his head slowly at her, moving down her body, kissing his way to a place that blocked all thought. 

Her passion for him only increased with what she had learned, and her need to show him how she felt drove them forward swiftly, and what they lacked in finesse that first time, they made up for in overwhelming need and enthusiasm. 

The second time, which took place several hours later and after much conversation, saw the moon shining in the windows. That time was slow and thorough and so wonderfully decadent she thought she would lose her mind from the sheer bliss of it. He explored so much of her with such dedication, she jokingly told him he would be quizzed later on all of her freckles and scars and other imperfections. To which, his response was only, and seriously, “I see no imperfections.” 

She did her fair share of exploring as well. She found his sensitive spots and indulged in them. She found his scars, tracing them with her fingers and then her tongue. She learned that kissing and nuzzling his neck, very near where she stabbed him, tickled him and made him laugh – every time. She learned that they both had an exceedingly acute attention to detail. 

The third time, which took place in the early hours of the morning after some much-needed sleep, was hot. That is what Lizzie called it, plain and simple, and Red did not disagree. It was steamy and uninhibited and hot. And, she learned that with him, she could do anything, say anything, ask for anything, and he would happily, eagerly comply. And, that was absolutely empowering.

After their third time making love, they lay entwined together, sleepy, in need of showers, water and food but content for the moment to stay exactly where they were. “Lizzie, I told you we would make a great team, didn’t I,” Red asked, his hand in her hair. 

She lifted her head from its place on his shoulder. “I didn’t believe you then for good reason. At times since I’ve believed it, begrudgingly sometimes; other times I didn’t want to believe it. But, now, after this, how can I deny it. Red! We are very good at this! Very good. Aren’t we?”

He laughed at her exuberance and surprise. “We are amazing at this. Yes. You are amazing.”

She laid her head back down on his shoulder and sighed. “I don’t want to leave here – not without you. I’m not going to be able to do it. I don’t see any way that I’ll be able to leave you and make it. I wasn’t sure I could before, and now I know I can’t.”

“Lizzie,” he cautioned, trying to move, but unable to easily, as she had wrapped her arm tightly around his middle and held him there on his back. 

“Don’t say anything. Don’t tell me I have to go. Not right now. Just – for right now – can I pretend I don’t have to go? Can you give me that? Right now, I want to believe we are on vacation at our cabin in the beautiful South Carolina woods. Let me believe that,” she said, beseechingly. 

“Okay,” he said, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “Okay.” 

They slept then.

***

When she woke many hours later, it was mid-morning, and to her astonishment, he was still asleep next to her. She couldn’t believe it. He was finally sleeping. It was her turn to look, to watch, and she took it. His face looked relaxed and almost boyish. The little pout of his mouth was so delectable, she wanted to ease closer to him and wake him gently with her body. But, she didn’t move; she just looked at him, from the top of his head with its soft hair to where the sheet dipped at his waist. She loved his chin, his eyelashes, and his strong arms – there was something about his arms that absolutely compelled her. And, his back, oh, his back – what he did for her so, so long ago that had brought them here. She ached looking at it, the desire to touch him there overwhelming. 

He had been an extraordinary lover; she had desired and continued to desire him more than any other man she had ever known, but it was so much more than that, so much more than either of them could handle right now. He made her feel things, want things that she shouldn’t, that she couldn’t, because she knew she would be leaving him. There was no stopping the forward momentum; she would be Alicia Ramsey very soon. No matter what she needed to believe last night, she knew he would never let her stay with him; there was no convincing him that there was another way. So, she needed a caveat, a modification to the plan that would allow her to proceed. Without one, she would have to tell him the deal was off. This man sleeping beside her who had given her so much of himself throughout the night – more than she ever expected to get – was, she knew, willing to let her go to save her. She knew that no matter what he felt for her, and she believed he felt a lot, he would let her go. He was stronger than she was. When it came down to it, he was better at this, more adept at leaving and moving on, better able to adapt to new and difficult situations. She was a fool to think she could move beyond this life alone, and he was a fool for believing she would. 

She needed to let him sleep. He had never woken her, and he slept so little. She should let him sleep. She should give him the same kind, indulgent treatment he had been giving her. And, she needed to think, so she rose from the bed carefully. She made coffee, took a quick shower, and went out onto the porch. In the hour and a half it took him to wake, she finished two cups of coffee, ate two pieces of toast and hatched a new plan. When he finally made his appearance, she was ready for him. She was prepared to present him with a caveat that would allow her to survive – with him.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

“Good morning, Red,” she smiled, getting up from her chair and walking to him. He had stopped just outside of the cabin door after stepping onto the porch, his eyes surveying the table in front of her chair, which was full of paper with her writing on it and some of Alicia’s documents that were peeking out from beneath a notepad. The remnants of a long-forgotten breakfast had been pushed to the side of the table. He took a deep breath and pursed his lips. He blinked slowly. Things were about to get unpleasant. 

She stopped directly in front of him and put her hand on his chest over his shirt and rubbed it gently. She leaned forward and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his mouth. She didn’t want him to have any doubt about her feelings regarding what happened between them. She wanted him to understand that it – he – mattered, and that because of all of that, she had taken control of her future.

He kissed her back, his lips soft and baby smooth after so much use last night. She looked into his eyes when she backed away and saw his suspicion and doubt. She took hold of his hand and pulled him to the chair next to hers. “Come sit down. I want to talk to you about something,” she said, becoming all business. FBI Agent Elizabeth Scott Keen. 

He sat as directed and regarded her carefully. “What do you have here, Lizzie,” he asked, his eye twitching slightly.

“I’ve spent some time thinking, analyzing the current plan, and I ask you to hear me out while I pose some modifications to it,” she said, leaning forward with her head turned toward him and her hands clasped between her legs. “Will you do that? Can you listen to me with an open mind, Red?”

He cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. “Yes,” he said, nodding.

“Okay,” she said, giving him a small smile “First, I want you to understand that I appreciate everything you have ever done for me. You saved my life. I would have died in that burning house if not for you. Molokovsky’s men would have me now if not for you. I am only here today because of you. You have saved me again and again and again. Thank you, Red. I just want to say thank you. I don’t think I ever have, and I need to before … before I go.”

“Lizzie,” he interrupted.

“You said you would hear me out. Remember,” she asked gently.

He licked his lips and took a deep breath. “I remember. Go on.”

“I have a little more than 24 hours left with you, and there is so much I still don’t know about me, you, my past and your role in it, who we are to each other. There are things I need to know, Red, before I leave, and there is not enough time. And, I want more time. I want more. I need it,” she bit her bottom lip and looked at him with longing in her eyes. “I don’t want what we have just begun to end here. I can’t leave it behind forever.”

He had begun to fidget, his growing anxiety palpable. She put her hand on his bouncing knee, hoping to calm him, and she continued building her case: “Red, I plan to become Alicia Ramsey as we discussed. I know that it is no longer safe for me to continue as myself. I trust that you have looked at every angle and determined this to be the best course of action. I will go to Australia, buy a house, look for a job, try to make friends, maybe get a dog, some fish, and create a life. I will pretend. Lord knows I have done that before. I can fake it. But, to know that forever I will be alone with my past, my truth, is too much for me, and I think it will be too much for you, too. 

“So, I will become Alicia with a caveat. I need to be able to see you. I need you to agree to one of the scenarios I have developed here. I could only work with the information I had; there is likely more that can be fleshed out when we factor in your organization and all that is possible with your network. I ask that you look through these options and pick one. Then we can talk more and move forward,” she said, organizing her papers in preparation for handing them to him. 

Red sat there stunned. Elizabeth Keen. Intelligent, determined, hopeful, volatile, tenacious, stronger than she knows, soft, hard, and soft again. She was so many things, and right now she was negotiating for their future. They mattered more to her than her safety, and as warm as that made him feel, it saddened him, too, because he would have to disappoint her. 

“Lizzie,” he shook his head slowly at her, his voice low and almost menacing. “We’ve discussed this already. There is a way this is done. Having me close to you will only endanger you. It will compromise you, and I can’t have that happen. If you are taken, everything I have done over the past nearly 30 years becomes meaningless.”

“Read over the possibilities, Red. I asked you to hear me out. Read them. Nothing happens until you do that,” she said, squeezing his knee, standing up and moving toward her breakfast dishes, planning to take them inside. 

He grabbed her hand. “You are asking me to find a way to compromise your safety,” he said, accusingly.

She turned back to him, angry, “No. I am asking you to fight for us, Red! I am asking you to take a risk, because our lives matter more together than apart. I am asking you to look at what I have worked on, because I believe there is a scenario in which we can continue, and if that is possible, then I want that. Don’t you? I don’t give a shit what my name is or where I live. I don’t care if I have to lie to everyone else about who I am, but I need to know that you know me, that you see me! And, even if you don’t know it, you need me to know you and see you, too. Read the damn papers, Red.” She pulled her hand away, picked up her dishes and went inside. 

*** 

She highlighted her short hair while she waited for him. She would look decidedly more “Baltimore”, but it would further distance her from Elizabeth Keen. She would also wear glasses as Alicia. So, when she was done coloring her hair, and it was dry and styled, she put on the glasses. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror for a while trying to reconcile with the changes. She looked different. She felt the same, but she looked very different. “Alicia. Alicia Ramsey,” she said quietly. “I am Alicia Ramsey. Alicia.” 

“Lizzie.”

She jumped, startled by his presence, embarrassed at his observing her private moment. He was standing behind her, much like yesterday, but she wasn’t laughing, and he wasn’t telling her things that made her feel cherished. And, he looked way too serious to have good news for her. “You scared me. I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, trying to calm her racing heart. 

“Forgive me,” he said, looking at her in the mirror. “You look good, Lizzie. This new look suits you.”

“Thanks,” she said, and even to herself she sounded sad and lost. 

“If you are done in here, would you come back to the porch and discuss some things with me,” he asked, so politely, so distantly. She could practically see the wall he was constructing around himself. Did he need protection? And if so, was it from her?

“I’ll meet you there in a minute. I just need to clean up in here,” she said, sounding almost breathless. She was nervous. This discussion would be it. It was her last chance to convince him to see things her way. She was leaving tomorrow night. He had told her that when they were in bed together last night. 

They had talked a lot after they made love the first time. She had asked him questions again, hoping to add to her growing collection of Raymond Reddington knowledge. He had been as forthcoming as he had the night before, and she found herself enthralled by him. She learned that he had loved being in the Navy, loved the lifestyle, the discipline, the camaraderie. When he was put on the fast track to admiral, it had been a dream come true. He had a young family that he loved and a career that was progressing better than he had hoped it would. He was a happy man. Then, he took an assignment – a most coveted assignment – that changed the course of his life. 

He went deep undercover to spy on the world’s best spies. To do that, he had to become one himself. He had trained intensely for the assignment, and it was going well. He had made inroads with a female spy, the deadliest assassin Russia had at the time; she was ruthless and brilliant, an excellent spy. She was having an affair with a man Red was working closely with, so she trusted Red because her lover did. Red followed her back to the U.S. from Russia to a house where she was to retrieve something called the Fulcrum. The woman told him the Fulcrum was the key to everything, to have it was to hold the world’s power in your hands. It had been stolen from her, and she needed it back – for Russia and for herself. 

It turned out the woman’s estranged husband had taken the Fulcrum; the man had taken it when he left her. The man was also a Russian operative, but not as good a one as his wife. She had come to the house to “get back what was hers.” It turned out the woman wanted not only the Fulcrum, but something or someone called “Masha.”   
A fight ensued. The woman shot and killed her husband. Another Russian spy in attendance killed her, set the house on fire and told the rest of them to get out. He said the Fulcrum wasn’t there and to get rid of the evidence of them having been there. So, they left, but Red heard something. He walked back in despite their protests. They drove away without him, and he found Lizzie in a closet, frightened, screaming. Getting out of the burning house damaged them both forever, leaving them permanently scarred, physically and emotionally. The event also left them permanently intertwined. 

Red’s career was never the same after that. The covert operation was never acknowledged, it couldn’t be, and so even though he came back into the fold of the Navy, suspicion followed him. It was believed that he was hiding something, that he couldn’t be trusted. When it was time for those he had spied on to seek their revenge, they went after his family, and he ran to divert their attention. He was labeled a traitor; no one aware of his covert project came forward to save him, and so what was only assumed became the truth: Raymond Reddington was a traitor, a criminal, a wanted man. 

The Fulcrum could save him; it contained information that would prove his work was sanctioned by the U.S. government. He could prove that the dark deeds of the government and his knowledge of those deeds led to his being squeezed out, left to the wolves, forsaken, when he could have been saved. Having the Fulcrum now gave him the ability to, in essence, clear his name and take down the most powerful people in the U.S. government as well as the governments of many other nations. But, he had no intention of doing any of that. Revealing the Fulcrum and himself as an operative of the government would ensure him a swift death. He wanted the Fulcrum only for protection – for innocent people around the world, for his daughter, for his ex-wife, for himself and, primarily, for Lizzie. 

Having the Fulcrum kept Lizzie safer if not safe. And, he would stop at nothing to protect her. Saving her so many years ago had saved him. Helping her life prosper in any small way gave him solace over the years; watching her grow into a healthy, happy person made his work more bearable; and meeting her, getting to know her, gave him glimmers of hope and peace where none had existed for decades. She had revived him, made him remember what it was like to feel, to wish, to pine, to dream – all things he had no right to do in regards to her.

He only came to her to protect her from Tom, to warn her, to give her information that would allow her to begin questioning him. He also wanted to give Tom a message through Zamani. But, then, he worked his first case with her and was captivated. So, he stayed even though he shouldn’t have, even though it caused her hurt and put her in danger; he was weak when it came to her. He was selfish, greedy, jealous, desperate and undeserving when it came to her, and he knew it. And, all of that led them to their current situation. His inability to let her go sooner led him to a situation where he would have to let her go forever. And, he would do it; he would step up and do the right thing as hard as it was, because he needed her in the world. 

Red had shared all of this with her as he prepared to make love to her a second time – hoping to show her how he felt through his actions, to slowly and thoroughly convey to her what she meant to him. It had worked he supposed, and, now she was asking him to compromise their plan, so she could keep him close. Fulfilling her request to reveal more and more of himself had backfired, because rather than being disgusted or put off, she was ever more desirous of him. 

She was never supposed to care for him. He hadn’t anticipated that and the complications it could bring. He had never expected to feel her against him, to hear her say his name in a way that made it impossible for him to deny her anything, to see her look at him with eyes shining with as yet undefined emotions. It weakened his resolve. She made him want things that he couldn’t want; she made him hope for things he had long given up on; and she made him feel more than he had felt for too long to remember. She was causing him to falter, and they would both pay the price for that. 

When she came out to the porch, her fear proceeded her. She looked pale and shaky, sick. He wanted to gather her up and hold her to him, but he couldn’t yet. “Lizzie, come sit by me, please,” he said, quietly. She took the seat next to him, the one she had occupied earlier. He heard her swallow. He took a deep breath and stared out at the lake for a moment. He was about to make a mistake, a very serious mistake. He knew it, and he also knew there was nothing he could do about it. 

He turned to her, and with a small, sad smile told her: “There is a way, Lizzie. Thanks to you, there is a way.”

***

That night they ate by the lake. It was a small dinner, but it was delicious. Somehow Red had the guards bring in some fresh local seafood, steamed vegetables and wine. They had chocolate-covered strawberries for dessert. After dinner they walked around the lake arm in arm. They sat in Lizzie’s favorite spot for a while, where she laid her head upon his shoulder and listened to him tell her about the stars, his voice deep and soothing, a balm to her anxious mind. 

Eventually, they made their way back to the cabin. She was eager to touch him and be touched by him, to feel him and be felt by him. Their love-making that night was tender and bittersweet. The intensity of her feelings, the overwhelming intimacy of their actions, and the knowledge of their time running out brought her to tears. She clung to him, and she would almost swear that he clung to her just as tightly. It was their last night in that bed together. It would be their last night together for a very long time. 

“Lizzie, you understand that I will only come when it is safe. That won’t be soon. That may not be for a long time. Right now, there is a search for me that hinders my movements. And, you need to quickly get out of this country and stay out. You need to get settled in Perth, start your life, proceed as planned, don’t wait for me, don’t ever stop anything for me. We will find moments, periods of time, together. It will never be conventional, it will never be fully satisfying. It will never be what I want for you, but it will be something, and if that is what you want, then we will do it. But, at any time if you want us to stop, Lizzie, say the word, and I will never appear in your life again,” he said as he stroked her naked stomach. 

He lay behind her, his naked warmth anchoring her. His arm wrapped snugly around her waist kept her flush against him, and his face was half buried in her hair. Her arm lay over his on her stomach, and she turned her face slightly on the pillow in an effort to see him. “Red, I know what I want,” she assured him.

“Oh, but, Lizzie, when you are free of all of this, you may feel differently. You may see more clearly. There will be opportunities for a better future – a husband, children, a very fulfilling life. That is what you should have. Not some old man, a criminal no less, who can’t provide you with a proper home and family. I don’t want you to be lonely. I don’t want you to be alone,” he said, his words rumbling through him into her, his breath tickling her ear. 

“Red, we haven’t used any birth control. Have you thought about that?” She felt him stiffen and still behind her. “I may not be alone.”

He cleared his throat, and she felt him take a deep breath. “No. I must admit I haven’t thought about that. Even though we talked about that subject together, I, uh, I didn’t think,” he said, sounding for all the world like a teenage boy caught with his pants down. “Oh, Lizzie. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking at all. That seems to be my problem with you. I do not think clearly when it comes to you.”

“I am just pointing out the possibility, Red. That doesn’t mean it will become a reality. I just want you to know there are ways for me to have the life I need, even if I don’t have everything I want all the time,” she said, tightening her hand on his arm. “I want you in my life however I can have you. That won’t change. That won’t ever change.”

“Then, when I can I will come to you. I am not sure when or how, but, trust me, Lizzie, I will come,” he promised.

“Red,” she turned onto her back, so she could see him better. “Should I call if I am going to have a baby?”

His eyes widened, and he blinked several times before answering. “Yes, Lizzie. Call the number. Please. I need to know that. Don’t hesitate.”

“Okay,” she smiled. She stroked his face and pulled him down for a kiss, which he deepened, as he moved over her. His intentions were clear, but there was a question in his eyes.   
“Lizzie, I never anticipated … I don’t have anything to prevent things, so we don’t have to …”

She stopped him with a hand over his mouth. “It’s okay, whatever happens,” she said. “I want whatever happens.” She kissed him again, but he pulled away after a moment and looked at her face. His eyes moved over the expanse of it, slowly, carefully, assessing her.

“What is it,” she whispered, his seriousness alarming her.

“I love you, Elizabeth,” he said.

*** 

The next evening, under the cover of darkness, Lizzie left South Carolina and Red. He did not accompany her to the airport where a private jet took her to Atlanta. Another private jet took her to Los Angeles, another to Sydney and, finally, another to Perth. The guard who called her “Ma’am,” whose name was Greg, did accompany her from the cabin all the way to Atlanta, where, to her surprise, Dembe met her and accompanied her the rest of the way to Perth.

When she reached Perth and prepared to disembark from the plane, Dembe hugged her and thanked her. 

“For what, Dembe,” she asked.

“For doing all of this for him. I know this is not what you want – to leave everything and everyone behind. I don’t think you would do this for yourself. I think you are only doing this for him, and I am grateful for that. He needs you, Liz. Even if he can’t really tell you that in the right way. He needs you very much,” Dembe said. 

“Thank you for saying that, Dembe. I need him, too. I think he understands that now,” she said, finally turning to begin her descent from the plane. “Are you coming?”

“No, Liz. There is a car for you here, and it has GPS. We have to go now. You will be okay. You have the emergency phones. Do not use them unless it is an emergency, please. And if you use them, you will not reach Raymond, you know that,” he reminded her. She knew there was no way for her to personally contact him now. That she had to trust him to do what he said he would do, trust his ability to stay safe, to protect himself and to eventually make his way to her. 

“I know that. Good-bye, Dembe,” she said, smiling sadly. “I will miss you.”

He smiled shyly at that and nodded. 

She left the plane and walked to her car. As she drove away, she saw the plane being refueled. Dembe would leave Australia soon, and she would be alone with her new life.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a while, but here is another chapter. I want to thank you so much for the kind comments for chapter 11 and kudos. It makes me so happy that so many of you are enjoying this story and sticking with it. It makes my day to hear from you. More soon ...

Chapter 12

She missed him. She missed him in a painful, visceral way that she couldn’t escape no matter what she did, and she did a lot of things. Over time, she tried a lot of things to alleviate her distress; it was either that or lose her mind completely. And, because she held out hope of him, she couldn’t give in to the temptation to give up. She couldn’t curl up in a ball under the covers forever; she couldn’t sleep or exercise her loneliness away, either. She had tried. She couldn’t eat it away; food held little appeal. Eventually, she was forced to reach deep inside of herself and make a decision – to live or not. She would never end her own life, but there was still a choice to live – to grow, to prosper, to evolve, to contribute to the world – or to stagnate, to wallow in the depression that beckoned. It was a battle she waged with herself for months. 

When she had first arrived in Perth, she carried with her the optimism brought about by love. Red loved her. He had told her, and he had shown her again and again, and the joy she had felt she could scarcely believe. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear him say those words; she hadn’t realized what a difference it would make, how her heart would respond to his rumbling voice, to his eyes peering into hers so earnestly, so openly, that first time he had told her. She made him say it again and again that night. “Tell me again, Red,” she whispered, kissing his neck. “Tell me again.” And, he did. 

And, the next day, she kissed him tenderly, achingly at the door of the cabin, the palms of her hands on his cheeks and her fingers gripping his neck, holding on - “Tell me you love me. I need to hear it one more time,” she said, as she prepared to walk to the car that would take her away. And, he told her, adding, “Believe it, Lizzie, with your whole heart. There is nothing truer in this world than that. I love you.” 

She needed the words to imprint themselves on every organ, muscle and bone, in every nook and cranny. She was storing up for the future, for when she was alone. She needed to be able to call them up anytime, to refill her mind with his declaration, to feel it, to believe it, because it sustained her like nothing else. To know that she was loved in the world made her real, made her somebody. And, she needed that above all else. 

But, the initial euphoria she felt upon her arrival in Australia was not long lasting. Reality hit her quickly. She found a hotel when she arrived. Her intent was to begin her house hunt quickly, to get settled, to try to begin anew, so when he came for her, he would see her progress, her work towards their future. He would be pleased with her and feel okay about things. She wanted him to feel okay, because if he saw how well things were going, that she was safe and healthy, he would know that he could see her more often, that they could continue. And, she needed that almost as much as she needed his love. 

When she had arrived in Australia, it was early March. The country’s summer was ending, and fall was beginning. She visited several houses within her first three weeks there, but none seemed to fit. And, then soon she found out she wasn’t pregnant. She had hoped beyond hope that she had been. She had pleaded with the universe for there to be a baby within her to care for, to love, to help maintain a piece of herself and Red, but it wasn’t to be, and the reality of that, the finality of it, paralyzed her. She wept. She had trouble eating and concentrating. She avoided all conversation. She refused to entertain buying a house or looking for a job. She stopped everything. And, she mourned. She had never felt such despair – not for Sam, not for Tom, not for the baby she had planned to adopt. Never. But, now, she mourned a life lost –hers – and one never brought to fruition – a baby –, and both debilitated her. 

By mid-April, she knew she needed help. She was still in the same hotel. If someone were looking for her, she feared she would be easily found. She had become a weird recluse holed up in a semi-seedy hotel on the edge of town. It was not smart; she was not being smart. And, after everything that had been done to keep her safe, she could not let it be her own carelessness that ruined their chances. There was no one there to help her, no one she could talk to; so, she picked herself up. The effort of doing so was excruciating, but she would not fail. She pushed herself – day after day. She pushed herself until she climbed out of the abyss of her depression. 

By the end of May, Lizzie truly became Alicia Ramsey. She bought a beautiful house on the ocean. She furnished it just as she wished. It was her dream house. She thought she would find it difficult to spend the money Red had put into her account, but it wasn’t. It gave her a measure of comfort to live like Red would. She wanted to create a home that would make him comfortable. They deserved that. So, she had a home for the first time in a very long time, and it was amazing. 

Next, she sent her resume to all the universities in the city. She followed up with phone calls. She was professional and impressive. She got two interviews quickly, and after several rounds of interviews with the University of Western Australia’s Psychology Department, she got a position as an associate professor. She discovered that a much-beloved professor had announced her retirement, so her timing was just right. And, Dr. Alicia Ramsey was a perfect fit. 

Everyone she met at the university was kind, welcoming and so intelligent that she felt something awaken inside of herself. A hunger to learn, to share and to work. And, she felt that was something; it was a start. She had a lovely home as a refuge, and a job that was inspiring. It was something.

She began teaching at the beginning of the next semester, having spent a great amount of time before that preparing for her classes, studying and reading the required materials and crafting stories to share that were not her own but still relevant. It was hard not to harken back to her own training and experiences, but she made sure she read Alicia’s file again and again, so she would not be tempted to stray. Preparing for her new job and then performing it filled her up to a degree. It was new and scary and took so much of her brain power that she was able to sleep at night, too exhausted to think too much about what she had lost. She began crafting a life. 

Alicia, or Dr. Ramsey at the university, was well-liked by her students and her colleagues; she was quickly accepted by the department. She made friends, and though she tried to keep them at a distance, she found herself truly caring about two of them. They would have brunch on Sundays, shop on occasion, have drinks after work. It was nice, it was something. But, when the conversation turned to men, she shut down. 

“Alicia, come on, Nate is a great guy,” Rachel said over wine one Friday. “He likes you. Why not give him a chance?”

A professor from the English Department, Nate was good looking and funny. He was a guy she once would have been happy to date, but she couldn’t do it now, and she couldn’t tell her new friends why not - that her whole life was a lie, and she loved someone else, was desperate for someone else. But, her file gave her an out. 

“I have had a lot of loss recently, and I just can’t get into something right now. I don’t feel ready for it,” Liz said.

“I know losing your parents has been so difficult, but from what you have said about them, they would want you to be happy, Alicia. One date, and you might feel differently,” Rachel kindly pushed.

Liz sipped her wine and shook her head. “Not yet, Rachel. I’ll know when I’m ready.”

When she got home that night, she realized her mistake in getting close to people. Doing so was a very bad idea. She was not maintaining the proper distance. Having to explain herself was too difficult and dangerous. It compounded the lies until she couldn’t think straight. She had been Alicia for months now, and she was good at it. She was trying so hard, but the effort, the constant effort, was exhausting. She cried that night for the first time in months. She had been working so hard to believe her lies that, for a while, she had forgotten the truth. And, the truth was she missed being Elizabeth Keen, and she missed Red; she wanted to see him; she needed to see him or hear from him. 

It had been too long, longer than she expected it would be before he got in contact. And, for just a second that night in her despair, she wondered if he wouldn’t, if he had merely placated her when he said he would find a way to see her. Maybe he did not have any intention of coming to her. He had achieved his objective of getting her to safety. She knew he would have done that by any means necessary, even by sleeping with her and lying to her afterwards. She knew he wasn’t above that. But, she also knew he had been telling the truth when he said he loved her. She had believed him, and because of that, she needed to trust him and wait. 

The next morning she turned on the small TV in her kitchen, and as she ate her toast and drank her coffee, she watched the news. She was already dressed for work, and the sun was shining brightly through her wall of floor-to-ceiling windows and the two sets of glass doors leading to her deck overlooking the ocean. She took a deep breath. She had had a rough night, but she had a full day ahead of her – classes in the morning and student advising in the afternoon. She needed to focus and move forward today; she needed to concentrate on being Dr. Ramsey. 

As she turned to put her dishes in the sink, the news reporter announced the FBI in the United States had just arrested number four on its most wanted list, Raymond Reddington, after a months’ long manhunt. He was being charged with the murder of FBI Agent Elizabeth Keen. Her coffee cup slipped from her hand and smashed against the tile floor.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your continued support of this story. It is almost complete. There is one more chapter after this one. I look forward to hearing what you think of this. Thanks so much!

Chapter 13

Her hands shook as she placed the phone back on the counter. All of Dr. Ramsey’s classes and advising sessions were cancelled for the day due to illness. It wasn’t a lie – she was ill, violently so. Her shoes crunched the scattered pieces of her coffee mug into the tile as she ran across the kitchen to the sink to expel her breakfast. She was sweating, and her head was pounding. “No, no, no,” she said, shaking her head as it hung over the sink. Her hands gripped the countertop for support. This could not be happening. 

She had listened to and watched the news report of the arrest of Red with such anxiety she had to rewind it several times to fully grasp the story being played out on the screen. She saw him – for the first time in months – being led into police headquarters in D.C. in handcuffs. His head was down, but he looked uninjured. His clothes were impeccable as usual. He, of course, was not resisting; he seemed agreeable enough to the situation. But, it was all wrong. What had happened? What was he doing? How could he have allowed himself to be exposed enough to get arrested? Something had gone very wrong. This shouldn’t happen, not unless he wanted it to, but it had not been part of the plan. It had not been part of any plan. 

Her instinct, strong and sure, was to go to him, to save him. She could save him with her mere existence. All she had to do was get on a plane, get to Washington, and show herself to the authorities. He would be exonerated of her murder. But, it wasn’t as easy as that. He was no longer an asset of the FBI; there was no longer an immunity deal to fall back on. He had abandoned the task force when he kidnapped her. So, his past crimes would come into play, and the courts would be unforgiving. In their custody, he would never see the light of day again, as Cooper had explained to her long ago when she, herself, was willing to expose him, to give him up. She closed her eyes at the recollection of Red kneeling in front of her in that park, giving her his gun and so much more. 

She had been a fool then; she hadn’t understood so many things. But, now, now she did, and she would not let him go down protecting her, no matter what he wanted. And, she knew he would fiercely be opposed to her help. Her aid of him would expose her, potentially; it could end any and all efforts to keep her safe. But, if what she saw was real, that is what she needed to do; she needed to go to Cooper and hope to hell he would help them. She would have to explain to Cooper that Red only did what he did to save her, to protect her, an agent of the FBI; if she told him everything, she might be able to get Red freed and viewed, again, as one of the FBI’s most valuable assets. 

***

She went upstairs to her bedroom and began packing a bag. She pulled out the burner phones given to her by Red before she left South Carolina; they had never been used. Even though she often slept with one on her nightstand or on the pillow next to her, her vehicle to him had thus far gone untested. But, the amount of times she had been tempted to call was too embarrassing to count. Should she call now she wondered as she pulled clothes off of hangars and stuffed them into her suitcase. And, if she called, who would answer? Dembe? Mr. Kaplan? Greg? Someone she didn’t recognize? 

The news report had shown FBI Agent Elizabeth Keen’s picture as well. After months of nothing, the story of her disappearance and death was resurrected, even in far flung Australia, and it made her feel naked, exposed. The need to run and hide was all-encompassing. She felt compromised – that she could walk out of her front door and be scooped up by sinister soldiers hunting just for her. The fear was overwhelming her ability to think clearly. She sat down on the side of her bed. She recognized the beginnings of a full-fledged panic attack, and she forced herself to breathe, putting her head between her knees, her heart pounding and her body shaking. She talked to herself, “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Just breathe; it’s okay.” 

It was okay, because Red was alive. He was imprisoned, likely being treated unkindly, likely being interrogated, but he was alive. And as long as he was alive, she could handle the rest. And, then it dawned on her – was this how Red felt when he came for her that night Molokovsky’s men were coming to take her? And, after, when he was desperate for her to accept his plan for a new life? Was it just enough that she be alive? Did that basic need eclipse everything else – his love for her, his desire to be near her? Right now, she thought it did. Right now, she understood him and his desperation to keep her alive at all costs. Because, first, she needed him alive, and a distant second she needed everything else. 

She was about to jeopardize her life for him, though, because as much as she wanted to call the number, to ask questions and get answers, she feared she would be told to stay where she was, and she couldn’t do that. She stood up on wobbly legs and went to the bathroom to check her hair; she had let it get a bit darker, but that would not do now. She searched her cabinet for her store-bought hair color and found she had one box left from a few months ago. 

As she applied the chemicals to her light brown strands, she thought out her plan. She would go directly to the airport, leave her car in long-term parking and pay cash for a ticket to a city in Europe. Then, from there, she would pay cash for a ticket to the U.S. She would not fly directly into D.C.; that would make it too easy for someone still looking for her. Red’s arrest might raise the antenna of those who still questioned her death; it was a critical time, and she knew she needed to take the utmost care to lessen her visibility. So, she would fly into a smaller city within a three-to-four hour radius, rent a car and drive to Washington. She would then go straight to Cooper. She assumed the post office was still in operation. If it wasn’t, she would find Cooper at his home, and if not, Cooper, then Ressler or Aram. She needed to get to someone she trusted, someone who would believe her. 

She finished packing her small carry-on suitcase. She couldn’t risk waiting around anywhere, even baggage claim. She would hide behind her hair, her glasses, and she would layer her clothes to obscure her actual size. Also, soon after arriving in Australia, when she was still living in the motel and desperate and frightened, she had purchased colored contact lens. She would bring them with her, and once she cleared customs, she would put them in, making her eyes brown. 

Her plan hatched, she waited until it got dark outside. Then, she made her way to the airport. She booked a flight from Perth to Frankfurt with a layover in Singapore. She made it through customs unquestioned. She held out hope that she would make it to the U.S. undetected and to Red before it was too late. She realized she not only feared his imprisonment but his likely escape, too; that is where his death loomed. Her mind wouldn’t settle. Her heart raced. Her flight from Perth to Singapore was difficult – claustrophobic and much too long – but it was nothing compared to the length of her next leg. She was going to have to find a way to calm down. 

During the two-hour layover in Singapore, she decided to eat something. She knew her body needed nourishment, even though her mind reeled at the thought. Between small bites of her noodles, she watched those around her, ever vigilant. She had put in her contact lens and kept her bulky jacket on. Even still, she had taken a seat in the back of the small airport restaurant with her back against a wall. She wanted a weapon. She would feel better with a gun, something she hadn’t possessed in eight months, since she arrived in Australia. 

When she got on the plane that would take her to Germany, she took a deep breath – she was one more step closer to him. Just as the flight attendants were locking the door and preparing for imminent takeoff, the plane’s phone rang. She was close enough to the front of the plane to see the concern on the pretty flight attendant’s face as she listened and nodded despite her caller’s inability to see her. Liz’s heart rate escalated. Oh, no. The woman placed the phone back on the receiver and went directly to the cockpit. Liz couldn’t swallow; her throat had closed up. A moment later the pilot came over the intercom system: “Good evening, everyone. It seems we have a small problem with our landing gear, and I am going to have to ask you to deplane for now. The repair should not take long, but we do ask that you take your luggage in case of the possibility of a change of planes. We do apologize for the inconvenience. Thank you for your patience, and enjoy your extended time in Singapore. We will see you soon.” 

Liz remained seated – numb – as all of the passengers deplaned. She was in no hurry to leave the relative safety of the airplane. She was biding her time, preparing herself. She was the last to walk off the aircraft and reenter the airport. She feared what was waiting. She had no doubt she was the reason for the delay. She had been found out, and it had been so tempting to beg the flight attendants to let her stay on board. But, instead, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and prayed. Then she took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and walked, one foot in front of the other, to whatever waited. 

At first she didn’t see him sitting there. At her gate. A newspaper covering half of his face. But, the closer she got the more sure she was. She took the seat next to him and stared straight ahead. “Greg.”

“Ma’am.” 

“What’s going on?” She asked, her heart hammering in her chest. 

“I am here to escort you back home to Australia,” he said, calmly.

It took everything in her to continue to look ahead instead of at him. “I am not going home,” she said, working to keep her voice down. 

“You have to, and I have been told to use whatever means necessary to make sure you do,” he explained. “There is a private plane waiting for us where it will be safer to talk. We need to go now, Ma’am.”

“I am not letting him rot in a hole for me. Do you understand?” She was seething.

“I do,” he said, quietly, still looking forward, never at her. 

“Then why are you here? I am doing what I need to do. I am doing what he would do for me, what he has done.” She turned finally, her eyes pleaded with the side of his head. 

“We need to go now. Meet me at Terminal D, Gate 5. Follow a few seconds behind me,” he got up and began walking.

A few seconds later, she followed. 

Once on the private plane, Liz let go of her restraint: “We are not going anywhere until you talk to me. This plane does not take off, do you understand me? I saw the news report today. I saw him handcuffed and being taken into custody. I need to know what happened. Greg, do the right thing here and talk to me.”

“Ma’am, I was sent here to tell you, in his words, to trust him, to not compromise yourself, to believe in his ability to do his job,” Greg said.

“Concrete. I want concrete information, not these platitudes he sends you with. Why was he arrested?”

“I don’t have all the answers you need. I came with the information I just gave you and with the directive of seeing you home safely,” he said.

“Still with this need-to-know crap, Greg? It’s tiring. This is all tiring. I want to talk to him. I want to make sure he is okay. You find a way for me to do that, and then we’ll see about all the rest. Do that, or let me off this plane. Now!” She was at the end of her rope – tired, scared, frustrated, angry.

His jaw twitched as she stared at him. What she was asking for was not part of the plan, she knew this by his body language. He was weighing her resolve. And, he wouldn’t find a dent in it. Soon, he stood up and walked to the cockpit. She stayed where she was, her knees bouncing. 

He returned a few minutes later with a satellite phone that he handed her before walking away again. 

She licked her lips, her heart ramming in her chest, and put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hello. It has been a long time.” Dembe. Not Red. Her heart sank. As much as she missed Dembe, she couldn’t enjoy this reunion. 

“How did he get arrested? And, where is he now?” She asked her questions stoically.

“He has been transferred into the FBI’s custody. He is fine. He is going to be fine. It is all well in hand. You need to stay the course. Do not trust all that you hear. Do not try to enter the United States. Go home. Live your life. When it is safe, someone will contact you. The original plan is still in play, Alicia,” he said with intention. He did not call her by her name. Not even now, with what she imagined were several layers of protection in place, security measure upon security measure. Things were not safe. Something had happened that needed handling. Something had happened that had altered Red’s course but not hers, apparently. 

She didn’t speak. She was thinking, wrestling with her response to this. So, Dembe helped her: “If you try to come here, you will only hurt him. Don’t do it. He needs you safe. It is the only thing that matters to him. Do not come here.”

She closed her eyes against the tears that welled and shook her head. “I miss him,” she whispered. 

For a moment there was silence on the line, then Dembe sighed, “He misses you, as well. Very much. Be safe and well. Good bye for now.” The line went dead. She opened her eyes and allowed the tears to fall. She missed Red. Being able to say it aloud to someone – someone who understood – made it so real. Talking with Dembe, seeing Greg, being on a plane that must in some way be affiliated with Red – all of it – made her so homesick, she felt paralyzed. And, she was scared for him. She still didn’t understand what was happening, and it sounded like for now she wasn’t going to understand. She wasn’t going to be told. Maybe that was for her own protection, maybe for Red’s or maybe for both of theirs. 

Soon, Greg returned. He gently took the phone from her hand. She wiped her eyes and looked up at him: “What do I do now?”

“This jet will take you back to Perth. I will accompany you to your home from the airport – for your protection. I will make sure everything is safe. You will return to work next week. And, all will be well. Your name has been erased from the manifest of the flight you took to get here and the one you were about to take. Also, the passengers won’t be returning to the plane you just exited; apparently, it has other problems that need fixing, so those passengers will be divided up into the next, most convenient flights. Your absence won’t be felt, Ma’am,” he explained. 

“Why is this happening,” she said quietly to herself.

“Ma’am? May I speak candidly,” he asked. 

“Please,” she nodded.

“Mr. Reddington has had me, and those who report to me, stationed throughout Malaysia, Singapore, Hong Kong, New Zealand, and Australia for the past eight months monitoring things – business, people, and movements from both – all to make sure you are safe. So far, we have been okay. The reports back to him have been good ones. There haven’t been threats, no movements that seemed questionable. There are also people stationed in Russia and China, many more in the U.S. and Europe. There is an army of us out there for you, for him. We take our jobs seriously, Ma’am. 

“Mr. Reddington does not ask for specifics, no one is monitoring you specifically. Mr. Reddington has made sure of that. In fact, we do not know where your home is or where you work, although we could easily find out both. We have been told to allow you to live freely, to never engage with you, to never seek to know more than is required. So, Ma’am, if I have been tasked with the detail of coming to extract you from that aircraft and to see you personally home afterwards, that means something of extreme seriousness has occurred. Let’s leave as soon as we can and get you back to safety,” he said earnestly.

She sniffed and wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks, and resigned to the fate that seemed destined for her, she sighed and nodded: “Let’s go back.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he nodded and went directly to the pilot with the instruction to takeoff immediately.

***

For the next two months, she ignored the news as best she could. The stories of him became less and less frequent. She kept her hair cut short and the color had, over time, become blond. It was January, and she was in the midst of a beautiful Australian summer. She had become tanned from spending time at the beach. Her summer vacation from the university had come at exactly the right time. 

When she had returned with Greg, it had been November. She had exams to give, grading to do and parties to attend. She had managed all of it, but barely. She was nervous, looking over her shoulder, fearful of the least disturbance to her schedule. Paranoid was the word that best described her. She had still managed to put on a brave face and spend Christmas with friends. But, she knew she was not doing well, that her situation was taking a toll on her mental and physical health. She had decided to give herself another month to see if any news was imparted. If nothing was forthcoming, she would have to take action again. She couldn’t go on indefinitely like this. 

Her days were long without a job to distract her, and she followed a routine of sorts that brought her some measure of comfort, some stability. It was not unlike her time alone in South Carolina. When she woke on a Tuesday, she proceeded as usual. She walked on the beach in the morning as she usually did. Then, she read on her deck for quite a long time. After that, she wrote in her journal, something she had begun to do to keep her sanity. Then, she swam in her pool and had lunch. She had found napping to be a pleasant way to pass the time, so then she slept. 

By late afternoon, she was finding her loneliness consuming. She should have called someone to have lunch. She should have gone shopping, but she didn’t do that either. She had spent too much time alone lately. She watched an old movie, with only a little interest and decided to turn in early. She took a sleeping pill, something she was ashamed to have begun doing on occasion; over the last two months when her anxiety and paranoia kept her awake, it was her only relief. Tonight, with the melancholy closing in, she took a pill, and within ten minutes, she was fast asleep. 

***

First, she heard her name – her real name. She heard it so distantly, so faintly. The cadence of it was perfect. It made her safe. It was the most welcomed lullaby. And, soon it was joined by touch; she felt her hair being stroked so, so gently. It felt just right, just how she liked it. No one had touched her like that in such a long time. It brought such comfort. She felt at peace, settled, quieted; she snuggled into the warmth of both sensations – the sound of her name and the warmth of a hand. She fell down, down, down – deeper and deeper into this most perfect dream. She wondered if she were dying. If so, she wouldn’t have the will to fight it. It felt too good. 

And, then the voice got louder, distressed. No, no, no. Say it like before. Say it nicely, sweetly. Please. The hand left her hair. No, please, it was perfect. Don’t stop. But, the voice got louder, and the touch got uncomfortable. It was all pulling her, pulling her, and she couldn’t make it stop.

“Lizzie! Lizzie!”

She mustered all the energy she could, and, her voice a whisper, she told it to stop. “Stop.”

“Lizzie! Wake up!” It didn’t listen. It had been so perfect, so wonderful. 

“Stop it,” she tried again. And, this time, she pulled, too, and opened her eyes.

“Oh, my god, sweetheart. You were scaring me, you were scaring me,” he looked at her with such relief in his eyes. He was sitting next to her on the bed with his hands at her shoulders. He was breathing heavily.

She looked into his eyes, sighed, licked her lips and closed her eyes. She was dreaming of him again, like always. But, this dream was different somehow.

“Lizzie? Lizzie? Hey, wake up. Come on. Talk to me, Lizzie.” It was different, because it was persistent.

She opened her eyes again, the effort so difficult, the pain pills working so hard to keep her pulled under its magic. And, there he was. Still. Vivid. Solid. This was no dream. “Red?”

“Yes, sweetheart. It’s me,” he moved both of his hands to frame her face and leaned down closer to her.

“Oh, my god, Red. Red. You’re here. Oh, my god,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. She put her arms around him and pulled him down on top of her. He leaned down and so, so gently kissed her lips. 

When he pulled away, he looked at her with concern. “Lizzie, are you okay?”

She laughed through her tears. “I think I should be asking you that question, Red?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the cliffhangers! A number of you commented about them. Sometimes there are natural stopping points - places where both reader and writer can be left eager for more. I need them sometimes- they keep me motivated. I hope this chapter is satisfying; it is certainly meant to be. I did lie, though. This is not the last chapter. At this point, I think there are two more to come. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the comments and kudos. Mostly, thank you for still reading this story!

Chapter 14

“I am now,” he said, continuing to look at her with concern. “I know you sleep soundly, Lizzie, but I have been trying to wake you for some time. Is something the matter? Are you not well?” His eyes scanned her face, her neck and the little bit of her chest exposed by her night shirt. 

“No, I’m fine, Red. What time is it?” She deflected, and he knew it. He bit the inside of his cheek for a moment before answering.

“It’s a little past midnight,” he said, sitting back up. 

Her joy at seeing him was beginning to overcome her grogginess. She wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled so sweetly, so gently at him. “I was afraid for you. I saw the news, and I was … I was beside myself. No one would tell me what was happening. I was so afraid I would never see you again,” she said, finding his hand and squeezing it. “I am so, so happy you’re here. I’m so relieved. It has been such a long time, Red, such a long, long time. And, I’ve missed you.”

She sat up then and put her arms around him properly, hugging him tightly to her. He slowly placed his arms around her. She could feel his tension, the rigidity in his shoulders and back, and she increased the fierceness of her embrace and kissed the side of his neck, a place she remembered was sensitive and responsive to her touch. “I’ve missed you very much,” she whispered against his neck. 

His breath stuttered, and he shivered at the touch of her mouth to his skin. But, he didn’t relax. He was stiff and contained, held tightly in check. She worried he hadn’t been touched in the year they had been apart. She had had the affection of friends and acquaintances, at least – hugs here and there, affectionate pats on the back, kisses on the cheek – touches that remind you that you’re human. Had he? Or, maybe he had been touched more intimately. Had he had lovers? That was something they had not talked about – whether they would seek intimacy with each other exclusively. It hadn’t even occurred to her to do otherwise. But, she hadn’t considered that he might have other lovers, and she wasn’t sure why she was thinking of that now when there were so many other pertinent things to think about. But, his lack of response was setting her on edge. 

“Red, what’s wrong?” She pulled away and searched his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighed, lifting one of his hands to run it gently through her hair massaging as he went, just like in her dream, just like when he cut her hair so long ago. That perfect, gentle touch that made her want to moan and curl up against him and let him do anything with her as long as he didn’t stop touching her like that. Her hair was even shorter now, lighter in color. Did he like it? Did he notice her weight loss? Did he find her less appealing? Did he love her still? Was that the problem? Maybe his feelings had changed. She had made him say he loved her again and again, but love didn’t mean “in love.” Had she forced his hand by making him promise to find a way to see her when that wasn’t what he really wanted?

She was reeling, and her brain was still foggy. And, she was so happy to see him, but he did not seem as happy to see her. And, she was doubting herself, doubting him, and that was the last thing she wanted to do right now. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she whispered urgently to him. 

He shook his head as he watched his hand move through her hair. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’re lying,” she accused gently. 

His eyes moved to hers then, and he grimaced. “I need to sleep, Lizzie. Can we talk in the morning? It was a long flight. I need some rest, and then we’ll talk about everything. Okay?”

Now, he was deflecting. They were good at it. She nodded, “Okay. There’s a lot to say. I know you must be tired, but, Red, I need to know about your arrest. Please. What happened?”

“It’s done. There is no need to worry. But, the story is a long one, and … and, the outcome of that event requires discussion I am not ready to have right now. But, tomorrow? I promise to share it all with you then. Can you accept that, Lizzie?” 

“No one has called me that in such a long time,” she sighed, leaning into his hand at the base of her head. “To hear it,” she stopped, shaking her head. “It’s nice, so nice.”

He squeezed the back of her neck gently before removing his hand from her hair and standing up. He was wearing a button-down shirt and dress pants. She saw no signs of a vest, suit jacket, hat or, for that matter, an overnight bag or suitcase. He moved toward her bedroom door, and she panicked. 

“Where are you going,” she asked, her anxiety already seeping into her voice. 

“My bag is downstairs,” he explained. “Should I return to this room or another after I retrieve it?”

“What?” She was almost incredulous. “Red. Why don’t you go into my bathroom and wash up? I’ll get your bag.” She got up and moved too quickly for him to refuse her suggestion. 

As she made her way downstairs, she wondered again what he had gone through over the past year and how deeply it had affected him. She got a glass of water in case he wanted one and his bag, and carried both back to her room. He was in her shower when she returned. She nudged the bathroom door open and placed his bag on her vanity chair. “Red, your things are here. Do you need anything else?”

“No. Thank you. I will only be a minute,” he said over the water.

“Take your time,” she said. 

When he finally emerged ten minutes later, she was in bed waiting for him. Her hands pillowed her head, and she was lying on her side facing the bathroom door; she watched him as he made his way back into her room. Her careful perusal of him seemed to unnerve him. He appeared nervous, unsure to her eyes. But, instead of being put off by his behavior, she decided to be proactive with him; it had worked in the past. So, she patted the space beside her: “Will you sleep in my bed with me, please?” 

“If you wish,” he said after a moment and climbed in. He was wearing boxer briefs and a white t-shirt; she noticed he was a bit slimmer than a year ago but otherwise unchanged.

When he got settled on his side of the bed, she slid closer to him. He was on his back, and she put her hand on his chest, stroking it gently. “You smell like me,” she hummed. “Nice, but not nearly as nice as when you smell like you.” He lay still and quiet, breathing evenly, but his heart beat quickly beneath her hand giving him away. She paused for a moment and then asked, “Red, did you miss me?”

He turned his head toward her quickly; he looked ready to chastise her before he softened slightly. “Yes,” he said gruffly and swallowed. 

“Then why are you trying so hard to act like you didn’t,” she asked, beseechingly. 

He exhaled sharply and furrowed his brow. He looked confused and opened and closed his mouth several times before shaking his head and finally speaking: “I have been away from you for a long time, longer than … I … I don’t …,” he stopped for a moment and looked away from her, trying to gather himself. “This year has been extremely difficult. It is the longest I’ve gone without direct knowledge of your whereabouts since you were a small child. It has left me … at sea … anchorless. I have had to shore myself up, to continue the metaphor, close myself off, and resist the continual temptation to ask about you, come for you, take you, and risk your life,” he said, looking at her once again before closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he took a deep breath. “I have missed you terribly and constantly, Lizzie. I’m sorry for not expressing that better. I think if I open the flood gates what will be released will overwhelm you, and me,” he said, smiling sadly. “I think if you truly understood the extent of my relief at being here with you, you might run from me. I may devour you before we’re done.”

“I wish you would,” she said, conspiratorially, smiling. “Tomorrow, once we’re rested, and we talk, I would like to experience you opening the flood gates. I would like you to demonstrate your relief. I want to know what it feels like to be devoured by you.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” he warned, his eyes more alight than minutes before. “Can we sleep now, Lizzie?”

“Yes, let’s sleep,” she agreed, leaning up to gently kiss his cheek. “Oh, Red. I am so glad you’re here. I am so glad this isn’t a dream.”

“Should I pinch you to prove it, sweetheart?”

She chuckled softly, “Please. Anywhere.”

“Tomorrow,” he promised.

“Tomorrow,” she agreed. 

****

When she woke the sun was streaming strongly through her drawn blinds. Her bed was empty save for herself. He had beat her awake, as he had in the past, but she smelled coffee and something sweet and undefinable. Thank God, it wasn’t a dream, she thought as she reached for her robe at the end of the bed. 

She found him out on the deck wearing shorts, a t-shirt and a Panama hat and reading the newspaper. Wow. He looked so normal, so comfortable – like he belonged there. Only one other person had ever been to her home – her friend, Rachel, – and briefly. And, it had felt like an invasion. But, this? This felt right. 

“Good morning,” she said, brushing her hand across his shoulder as she sat in the chaise lounge beside him. 

He looked up and smiled, folding his paper away. “Good morning, sweetheart. It seems you slept well. How are you this morning?”

She detected his lingering concern from last night; his inability to wake her had unnerved him, she knew, but she was loathe to reveal her weakness of sleeping pills to him. “I feel fine. You?”

“Refreshed. I made coffee and French toast. Are you hungry?” He seemed determined to be pleasant and solicitous, but he was still too distant and restrained for her liking. She wanted more from him, and she was determined to get it. But, she would humor him for now. 

“That sounds nice, and yes,” she admitted. 

“Stay seated and let me get it for you,” he said rising. As he moved past her, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Once she let go, he remained perfectly still for a moment before walking away.

She wanted to be encouraged by this visit, by all it could mean, but, despite what he admitted last night – his fear of letting go, his long-held restraint – she couldn’t help but think something else had him holding back. There was something he was fearful of, and she wondered if that thing was more her than him. Did he not trust her feelings for him? Did he question her intentions toward him now, a year later? 

He returned to find her staring out at the water beyond, concern and confusion etched on her face. He placed her plate at the table along with a cup of coffee. “Eat,” he said, gently. “Then, we’ll talk.”

She drank her coffee and ate several bites of the French toast, which was delicious. When she pushed it away, he came and sat across from her. “You barely touched the food,” he said, accusingly. 

“I had plenty. It was really good. Thanks for making it,” she said, wiping her mouth with her napkin. 

“You’re too thin,” he said, pursing his lips and shaking his head. 

That was it – enough. She was getting angry with him now. “Red, tell me what happened with the arrest. And, how are you here now? Nothing in the news said you were released. What the hell happened? Tell me now,” she demanded, her voice raised. 

“You haven’t heard anything about my release, because it never happened. I am being detained as I wait for my trial, where I will be convicted for life for my crimes,” he told her matter-of-factly. 

“What?! Wait a minute … ”

“Things were coming to a head with the Cabal, the men who both fear and desire the Fulcrum. Their plan of destruction, mass destruction, was underway, and they wanted to make sure I was out of the way; they wanted to make sure I couldn’t stop them. The power wielded by the holder of the Fulcrum looms large, but if they can take me down, the power is all theirs. So, I turned the game on its head, Lizzie,” he smiled tightly. “I got myself arrested and waited for Harold to come, which he did. I told him the truth – all of it – about the Fulcrum, the work of the Cabal, and you. I gave him the Fulcrum. I believe he will do the right thing with it. And, in exchange, I will receive a life sentence in a maximum-security federal prison, solitary confinement – indefinitely. That is the official story.

“But, the reality is that I am, again, the FBI’s most valued asset. I saved the world from a wide-reaching catastrophic event, protected an active FBI agent from capture and almost certain death, and provided evidence that will allow the good people of our government to finally get rid of the parasites that have plagued it for decades. My immunity deal has never been more airtight. While I officially languish in prison, in actuality, I will be free to live my life, albeit far away from those who may question the truth of my downfall,” he explained.

She sat there stunned and silent for several minutes, her fingers nervously at her lips. He had put together his own witness protection package, resurrected his immunity deal, and Cooper knew she was alive. It was almost too much to take. “When is your trial,” she finally asked. 

“In three weeks,” he said, nodding. “I needed you to know the truth. I feared you would do something to compromise yourself if you weren’t told. Your attempt to come to Washington when I was arrested was foolish, extremely foolish and ill-advised. You should have never tried such a thing. Never.” 

His chastisement and the onslaught of information rankled her, made her lose her barely-held sanity. She stood up and pushed her chair back angrily. “Why couldn’t you have told me, then? Huh? Someone, if not you, could have found a way to tell me what was going on, for fuck’s sake. Instead of leaving me here to panic, to fall apart. And, then, when I try to come to you, to save you, to tell what I know, I am stopped, only given cryptic information, made to turn around and go home – like a child. Is that how you see me? As a child you can jerk around? I gave up everything for you, because you needed me to, so you could go on and feel okay knowing I was safe. It’s okay for you to save me, but I can’t return the favor. Have you thought about how I’ve felt? For an entire year, I’ve heard nothing from you, you asshole! And, now? You go to trial and then, what? You go hide away forever and leave me here? You son of a bitch!”

During her tirade, he had stood up and come around the table to her. By the time, she paused for a breath, he had already grabbed her by the arms and pulled her to him. And, then, before she could say another word, he kissed her. She resisted at first, pushing against his chest with her hands, but he held on to her firmly and deepened the kiss. Her surrender was slow but sure. He knew her weakness – him, his kiss – and he was exploiting it; she knew he was, but she was powerless against it. He moved his arms around her back and pulled her more tightly to him. He moaned into her mouth, and the sound shot straight through her. The feel of him against her, his strong arms, his lips, his tongue … soon, she wouldn’t be able to think, wouldn’t want to think. Why did he have to make her feel everything? Want everything? 

He eventually slowed the pace of the kiss, dictating its rhythm without flaw, always anticipating her needs. Drugging her with the sensuality of it. Her body remembered him, welcomed him back eagerly. Her body was a traitor, and it would be followed closely by her mind if she didn’t stop this. Groaning, she pushed against his chest again with her hands, and slowly, regretfully, pulled her mouth from his. “You are a bastard,” she said, her voice so husky with want it was embarrassing. She stared at his neck, unable to meet his eyes. 

“That mouth of yours, Lizzie. It continues to be both wonderful and wicked,” he said, his own voice giving away his desire as much as his body did. 

She said nothing, just stared at his neck and tried to get her breathing under control. 

“I think I’ll start by saying I don’t think of you as a child. I think you can feel the evidence of that, can you not? I should have let you know the plan; that would have been wise, in retrospect. My chief objective in all of this has been you – is still you. I need you to be safe; nothing is worth compromising that. And, selfishly, stupidly, I also need to have you,” he said, dipping his head down to catch her eyes. She reluctantly looked at him. “I wasn’t sure how to achieve both of those objectives. But, now I think I do.”

“What are you saying, Red?” Her eyes, still wide and needy from his kisses, beguiling, held his. 

“If you can be patient, we may be able to come out of the other side of this together. If that is what you want,” he added. 

“I love you, Red. Do you understand that? I love you. I didn’t tell you enough before we left South Carolina. I didn’t think enough beyond myself. I needed so much from you that I didn’t give enough. I’m so sorry for that, so very sorry. Because if you are unsure of what I want now, that means I did a terrible job of expressing myself then. I’m a mess, an idiot, and I love you so very much. I’m sorry for yelling at you. I act like a child sometimes; I guess that’s why it’s easy to accuse you of seeing me as one,” she said, moving her hands from his chest to around his neck. “More than anything I want to be together. I want to come out of this together.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Lizzie, I can’t contain the flood gates much longer. Shall we go inside? Your bed reminds me of another, but I, we, need to lie in it again, so I can make sure I’m right,” he said, his voice like gravel as he bent to kiss her neck. 

“Mmmm. Like South Carolina. The bed. I loved that bed,” she said, her verbal ability already compromised by his proximity and his suggestion. 

“Yes. You chose well. The bed. The house. Your taste is exquisite,” he said, capturing her mouth with his. 

She laughed briefly, into his mouth, at the double entendre, but then he silenced her with a hand at her breast, seeking, seeking.

She grabbed his hand and walked him quickly into her bedroom, closing and locking the glass doors behind her.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for reading. There is only one more chapter after this one. The kudos and comments are much appreciated. Enjoy!

Chapter 15

Red stayed in Australia for two weeks. Lizzie’s vacation from the university and general lack of houseguests made it easy to stow away a soon-to-be-convicted criminal in her secluded beach house. Despite the circumstances under which he arrived, Red was in mostly good spirits during his visit, having, after a couple of days, finally let go of his self-imposed distance from Lizzie. Her warmth and openness thawed him and helped him remember who he was – something that he had found difficult to do without her in his life. He remembered why his life mattered – to secure hers – and the reward to be had from his success – her. 

Over the two weeks, they spent much time in the comfort of Liz’s luxurious bed but also broadened their scope to include the shower (both indoor and outdoor), the pool, the ocean – they did a lot of lovemaking in the water – the deck under the stars, the living room up against a wall, the stairs to see if they could, the kitchen counters – any durable surface would do. It was a honeymoon of sorts, a long-awaited coming together, and the welcomed release of pent-up passion, desperation, frustration and loneliness. It all swirled together to create a decadent, sex-soaked fortnight the likes of which Liz had never experienced and Red hadn’t in decades. Her youth exhausted, amused and ignited him, and his experience channeled her into uncharted territory and blew all of her naively set boundaries out of the water. The time alone sealed something for them – a commitment, a devotion, a recognized compatibility, a friendship, a partnership; however it was defined, it was uniquely theirs and strongly made. 

So, when it was time for Red to go, to accept the fate he had set in motion, Liz experienced a panic attack unlike any she’d had previously. It came unexpectedly two nights before he was set to leave for Washington to prepare for the trial. They had had many conversations over their time together; some about the trial, some about their relationship, some about the plan for after the trial’s conclusion, and through all of it, she had been strong, decisive, combative if necessary and always supportive. But, now she was shaking and cowering in a corner of her bathroom unable to breathe, and Red was asleep in the next room, unaware. 

*********************************************************** Before ***************************************************************************

When Red initially told her of his plan to spend the first two months after his conviction actually serving his sentence in the maximum security prison to which he would be assigned, she was fearful he would never get out alive. He assured her it was for the best and that Cooper had worked it out. The public and, more importantly, his enemies would believe in the truth of his capture and ultimate conviction. That could not be in doubt if he hoped to live. During that critical time, he asked that Lizzie continue with her life as Alicia, teach her next semester and make every effort to live as she had been. And when it was safe and Red was settled, he would send for her. He hoped it would coincide with the end of her next term at the university, as it was important she not raise suspicion. She would need to give proper notice and leave in a way that was believable and appropriate for Alicia. There could be no compromising her safety, no red flags, no questions. 

He did not know their ultimate destination – time and circumstances in the world would dictate that – or when they would reach it, but he made her a promise that they would. 

“How can you promise me this, Red? Anything could happen in that prison. You could easily be killed,” she argued, while lying beside him in her bed after they had made love for the first time upon his return, after their French toast breakfast and her yelling at him, with the early afternoon sun shining in. 

“You have to trust what will be put in place to prevent that very thing. It will be fine. I will have protection. That is a fundamental part of this plan – layer upon layer of protection,” he said, stroking her hair. 

“Do not take any chances, Red. Promise me that. If you promise me that, I will believe it,” she said, lifting herself to straddle him, rubbing her hand down his belly, watching her hand as it moved lower, and feeling his reaction to her touch. She smiled. “You are very sensitive. When you relax, you are extremely sensitive to my touch. I like that.” 

***********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

When Red discovered her sleeping pills, he had been looking for dental floss. He was searching the drawers of her bathroom on the hunt for relief from the errant strawberry seeds in his teeth following their evening meal on the deck. He had been with her for four days. She had shown no signs of sleeping poorly, but maybe that was a result of the pills. 

That evening he watched her perform her nightly routine. He sat perched on her vanity chair talking with her as she washed and moisturized her face, and brushed her teeth and combed through her wind-whipped hair. She seemed undisturbed by his presence, not at all hesitant or wary of him. 

When she was finished and smiled sweetly at him and said, “Your turn,” he captured her by the waist and kissed her soundly. She returned his kiss eagerly. “Hurry up in here and come to bed,” she encouraged. He pulled her to him so she stood between his legs, her hands landing on his shoulders. She tilted her head and laughed a little at his seriousness: 

“What is it?”

“Lizzie, do you not sleep well,” he asked gently.

“What,” she asked, her laughter dying at his question.

“Do you have trouble sleeping unaided? I found your sleeping pills, and I am concerned that you have been having difficulty beyond what you have expressed to me,” he said. 

She tried to pull away, but he tightened her hands at her waist. “Sweetheart, I just want to help you if I can. I am not judging you. I would never do that. You must do what helps you. I just want to help you if I can, and understand,” he said.

She took a deep breath and looked at him for a moment. As he watched her, her eyes filled with tears. He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but she shook hers back at him, and he nodded. It was her turn to talk. “It was hard at first, trying to live this life. When I first got to Australia, I felt like I could do this, you know? Like I was strong enough. But, that didn’t last. When I realized I wasn’t pregnant, I kind of fell apart …”

“Lizzie,” he whispered, distressed. 

“No. Listen,” she said. “I just couldn’t do anything for a while. I couldn’t leave the hotel room, couldn’t look for a house, couldn’t look for a job. I was alone, depressed, and I needed you. But, I knew if I failed at this I would never have you. So, I got better. I started to eat again, I bought this house, I got a good job, and it was going okay. I was surviving. But, when I found out about your arrest? After that? I struggled a lot. I had a lot of anxiety, a lot of paranoia. And, I couldn’t sleep. It was affecting my work, my physical health, so I finally went to a doctor. I take the pills sometimes. They give me an opportunity to escape when I can’t on my own.”

“The night I arrived?”

“Yes, I had taken one that night. That’s why you had trouble waking me. Maybe the pills are too strong. I don’t know. I have never had to wake up that soon after taking one,” she admitted. 

“You frightened me that night, Lizzie. I was terrified that something was very wrong. I was terrified that I had finally arrived, and I was too late for whatever was happening,” he said, biting the inside of his lip and shaking his head, reliving the memory. “How are you sleeping now?”

“I haven’t taken any pills since you got here. I am sleeping fine with you beside me,” she said, moving her hands from his shoulders into his short hair, rubbing his head. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Lizzie, I think those pills are too strong for you. I have experience with such things, and if you’ll let me, I will get something different for you for when you need it,” he said, closing his eyes at her ministrations on his head. 

“Maybe I won’t need them anymore, but, yes, okay. Now, let’s go to bed,” she suggested. 

He put his forehead against her chest as she continued to rub his head and moaned. “I am so comfortable here, though.”

“You are such a little boy. Come on. I will rub your head in bed.”

***********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

A week into Red’s visit, during a leisurely swim in the pool, he broached the subject of Lizzie’s social life. It did not go well. 

“What did you expect, Red? When you showed up here, did you believe it was a possibility that I would be seeing someone, that I’d have someone in my bed, that I would have forgotten you and moved on so easily? Don’t you know me at all,” she asked, from across the pool, her voice rising above the surf beyond. 

“I had hoped you would carry on. It would have been better that way. I told you that before you left South Carolina,” he said. “I would have never objected to such a discovery; frankly, it would have been safer and infinitely better.”

“Better for whom? Because I don’t think that is what you really wanted to happen. You are not that selfless, even when it comes to me. You are here now, aren’t you? Is this safe for me? This visit? Are you compromising me right now? Or, better yet, more importantly, are you compromising yourself,” she asked, moving toward him through the water.

He stared at her horrified, speechless. And, finally as she closed in on him, he found his voice, and it was steely: “I would never compromise you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it was safe, but you are correct in understanding that, no, it is not the absolute safest route for either of us. The safest route is for you to stay here and live as you have been for the past year – as Alicia Ramsey – and never see me again. It would be safest for me to get through this trial and escape into the shadows forever. The safest route would be for the two of us to never meet again.”

“That is not the route we have chosen,” she said, strongly, matter-of-factly, trying to make him see. 

“Apparently not,” he nodded sharply. 

“We have risked everything, lost so much for each other. So, knowing that, why are you asking me if I have had any lovers over this past year? Why are you asking me about dating and dinners and friendships? I thought jealousy was a base emotion and beneath you.”

“I never wanted you to be alone. I would have never begrudged you a lover,” he said, seriously.

“Red, I didn’t want a lover. I wanted you. I guess we’re different in that,” she said, looking away from him. “I wanted to have your child. I yearned for it. I slept with the phones you gave me to keep something of you close. I would prefer to be alone forever than to have something less than this. Am I naïve, Red? Am I fooling myself? Is this not enough for you? Am I not enough?”

He reached out and touched her face, gently running his fingers down her cheek. “You are everything. You are more than I could have ever hoped for. I am the fool, Lizzie, for upsetting you. I was only trying to understand how you spent the last year. I didn’t mean to somehow invalidate all that we are to one another. You are so much more than enough. No more doubts. Can we agree?”

“Yes, we can agree. But, Red, unlike you, I am not above jealousy,” she explained.

“I have had no other lovers, Lizzie,” he admitted. 

“Good. Don’t.”

*************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

After ten days, Lizzie began to get anxious. Time was running short, and there was still so much left to be decided, so much that they couldn’t know yet, and it scared her; it made her want to climb the walls. 

“Lizzie, go for a nice run on the beach. You need to release some of the tension you are experiencing,” he said from behind the morning paper. He was calm, satisfied. They had already made love twice, and it was only 10 a.m. He was trying his best to help relieve her of her stress, but his methods weren’t working, it seemed. 

“I just need you to tell me again about the prison. The guards? Are they your people or the FBI’s? Can you be sure they won’t turn? That they can’t be bought,” she asked, pacing her living room.

He put the paper down and turned toward her in his chair. “The guards will be my people, round the clock. Harold has agreed to this. I will be held in Virginia, where the FBI can continue to interrogate me on a regular basis; that’s the story. The FBI wants access. I will be seen there long enough for the story to spread that I am, indeed, an inmate. Then, I am going to do something that will land me in solitary confinement – don’t ask what. I will remain there for the rest of my time at the facility, and when we’re ready, my people, in coordination with Harold and the FBI, will extract me. Dembe and my teams in various locations throughout the world will be planning for my eventual release. Where I go will be up to them at first, until I can coordinate from the outside,” he explained.

Her pacing had stopped; she stared out of the windows toward the sea, her fingers worrying her lips. “So much can go wrong. I want to be there. I would feel better if I could be there,” she said, forlornly.

“You know that isn’t possible,” he said. “But, trust Harold, Lizzie. He is so pleased that you are alright. He made me promise to tell you of his absolute happiness at the discovery that you are alive. I gave him answers to all of his questions about you, except your current name and location. No one can know that. So, he will not be able to contact you with news of me, but I want you to understand that so much of what is happening now is because of him and his feelings toward you. He genuinely cares for you.”

“I care for him, too,” she said, quietly. “But, that really doesn’t make this any easier.”

***********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

In bed, on the twelfth night of Red’s stay, Lizzie clung to him – her leg was wrapped around his legs, her arm lay across his chest, her head rested on his shoulder. Aside from her display of anxiety two days before, she had been strong. But, tonight, she was thinking about the sleeping pills in her bathroom drawer. It would be so nice to drift away for a while. Red was sleeping soundly, his breathing even and peaceful. She was so pleased for him to have rest, so pleased she brought him contentment. 

But, she knew the signs, and she was on the verge of a panic attack. His leaving was becoming too real. It was closing in on her. And, she feared the breakdown that might be coming. She didn’t want him to see it, experience it. No, she wanted to be his partner in this. He was doing this for his safety and their future. She needed to be strong for him, and she was falling apart lying quietly beside him. 

She began to extricate her limbs from him. He stirred only a little, so she lifted her head, too, and then pushed herself off of the bed. When she reached the bathroom, she quietly closed the door and turned on the light. She got the bottle of pills from the drawer, but her shaking hands made it impossible to open the container. Her breathing became labored and shallow. Then she dropped the bottle to the floor; it opened, scattering pills all over the tile. She began to sweat. Her chest was so, so tight. She couldn’t catch her breath. As she reached down to grab the bottle, she slid down the wall and sat on the floor. It was all she could do – sit there and try to breathe. When she realized she was losing the battle, she crawled to the vanity; her hand reached a glass jar of cotton balls, which she pushed to the ground, shattering it across the floor. The sound was enough to bring Red running into the room. 

She woke in the emergency room of the local hospital. 

“Ms. Ramsey? Alicia? You are finally awake,” smiled a kind-looking woman, a nurse, Lizzie surmised. 

“What happened,” she asked, her eyes searching the room for Red. He wasn’t there. 

“You were unconscious when the paramedics got to you. There was concern that you had taken an overdose of sleeping pills, but, in the end, we discovered that you had hyperventilated from an old fashioned panic attack. We gave you a sedative to relax you and improve your breathing. You are going to be fine, but I would suggest that if this happens to you on a regular basis you talk to a doctor about it. Medication can help, so can meditation. I’ll get the doctor in here to look you over, dear. Then, we will let you go,” she said, patting Lizzie’s arm.

“Wait. Who – I mean – how did the paramedics find me,” she asked. 

“Someone called in an emergency. I don’t know who it was. I don’t believe anyone came in the ambulance with you. Is there someone we need to call, dear?”

“No, no. Thank you. I, I’m fine,” Lizzie said, giving the nurse a small reassuring smile. 

She took a taxi back to her house two hours later after seeing the doctor and waiting forever to sign release papers. The sun was rising as she rode home. She was so stupid. Her weakness could have jeopardized Red; it could have compromised them both. She had likely frightened him. She had tried so hard to keep it together for him. She wanted to be his equal, his partner, not someone who created problems for them, who made him worry. She paid the taxi driver and walked slowly to her front door. 

Where had he gone when the paramedics came for her? He wouldn’t have allowed them to see him, surely. Did he watch from another room? Leave the house altogether? Would he be there now? She unlocked the door and walked into the foyer, dropping her keys into the glass bowl as always. She made her way into the kitchen. She was afraid to call for him, afraid to find out he had gone. She placed her hands on the countertop and dropped her head. She was standing in precisely the place she had been when she watched the news announcing his arrest. Everything had gone downhill from there, and prior to that she hadn’t thought that possible. She was struggling to climb back up. Still. Dammit. 

She gasped when a hand touched her shoulder, turning her around, and pulling her into a tight, tight embrace. “Thank god, you’re alright. Thank god.”

************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

The next two days were quiet. She made him breakfast that last morning and brought it to him in bed. He had been sleeping later than her for the past two days, mainly because her sleep was elusive. She had flushed the sleeping pills down the toilet upon her return from the hospital even though they had nothing to do with what happened. There was no way she would ever have Red worried in that way again. She would never hurt herself, and the fact that he even considered that a possibility pained her beyond measure. She told him about her past panic attacks, and she could see by his expression that he was deeply concerned. Seeing him that way – frightened and helpless – made her understand his investment in her, in her well-being, that it was years’ worth of care and careful attention he had devoted to her. 

He brought up her past issues with migraines, and she assured him that she had them only rarely. And, the panic attacks were also only a sporadic occurrence. He didn’t have to worry about her. She would be fine. That is what she said, and that last morning she meant to prove it to him. She woke him with a kiss, having placed the tray carefully on his nightstand. 

“Red, good morning. Wake up,” she said, peppering his face with gentle kisses. His eyes fluttered open, and he moaned his pleasure at finding her leaning over him. She smiled at him, happy, desiring to make him happy. “If you get up and eat your breakfast, I have some things I’d like to do with you, to you, for the rest of the day.”

“Lizzie, you delight me in every way,” he said, grabbing her and pulling her on top of him. 

*************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Red left that night under the cover of darkness. She held him tightly to her before he walked to the waiting car driven by Greg. She whispered in his ear: “Be safe. Please be safe. And, come back to me. I love you.”

“When next we meet, it will be under new circumstances. It will be for good, Lizzie. No more leaving, no more waiting, no more fear. I promise you that,” he said, pulling away slightly to look deeply into her eyes; searching and finding what he needed, he nodded. “I love you, Elizabeth.”

“I will be fine,” she assured. “I will be strong. I promise. Don’t worry about me. You just stay safe for me. You promise me that,” she said, kissing his mouth gently. He nodded. 

“Go,” she said. 

And, he did. She watched the car disappear and turned back into her house, locking the door behind her.

************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************ 

It was months before she saw him again, but she kept her promise. She stayed strong for him. She stayed strong for him and for someone else, too.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Thanks so much for the support. Writing this has been such a pleasure. All of you who have read this and taken the time to comment and leave kudos have made this a truly rewarding experience. I can't wait for season three!!

Chapter 16

Dr. Ramsey finished out her next semester at the university, but it would be her last for quite a while. And though the department was loathe to lose her, it knew better than to try to compete with her upcoming career change. She was given a proper send off – a party, gifts, toasts, letters from students, letters of recommendation for the future, well wishes. 

She would not be returning to teaching so that she could focus on motherhood. The father of her baby was an old friend from back home, and Dr. Ramsey couldn’t be more pleased with her situation. She was ready to embrace single motherhood, allowing her baby’s father as much time as he wanted with the child. It was all very amicable, so very adult and progressive. Yes, Dr. Ramsey was commended for her togetherness, her strength and solidity. She was quite a modern lady, they said. 

But, inside, Liz longed for the traditional. She wanted her baby’s father beside her. She wanted a tight family unit the likes of which she had never had. She wanted memories and hands other than her own touching her growing belly, feeling the barely there kicks of tiny feet. She wanted to talk about her hopes and dreams and fears with her partner. She wanted a lot of things. But, the two things she wanted most were a healthy baby and for her baby’s father to survive prison – one was the wish of every mother, the other, admittedly, less so.

When she discovered she was pregnant, Red had been gone for six weeks. She had followed his trial on the news, listened to commentators crucify him, watched his past paraded in pictures across her TV screen. She was a part of that past, the very reason for his trial, and her photos flashing before her eyes always caused her to shudder and fear discovery. He was convicted, as expected, and given the death penalty. She vomited her dinner that night, and it had nothing to do with her as-yet-undiscovered pregnancy. She worried that the plan would not work as he told her it would. She feared his death on a daily basis. In the weeks after his conviction, she was plagued with worry and anxiety, despite her promise to trust him and be strong. 

Her return to work in late February helped focus her, and then, just a few days after she started classes, in the midst of a lecture in her behavioral psychology class, she realized she hadn’t had her period in a long time. The realization momentarily paralyzed her, and she wondered later what kind of stunned face she presented the class, because several of her students got out of their chairs and moved toward her: “Dr. Ramsey, are you alright?” “Dr. Ramsey, do you need to sit down for a minute?” “Would you like some water, Dr. Ramsey?”

“No, I’m fine. Sorry. No. Let’s continue. Where were we,” she finally answered. 

That night she took a home pregnancy test. The positive result knocked her off of her feet. She sank onto the vanity seat in her bathroom and huffed a crazed laugh. “My god, my god, my god,” she said aloud. She laughed again, her hand at her mouth. She was stunned. She just hadn’t considered it during Red’s last visit. Her earlier disappointment and the mourning she had gone through then had felt permanent somehow. She had believed, even though she had had no real proof, that motherhood would not be a reality for her, that something was wrong with her that prevented it; it was only a dream of her past. But, she had been wrong. 

She took two more tests the next morning, and both confirmed her earlier result. She was going to have a baby. She was – right then – a mother; no matter what happened later – if, God forbid, the baby didn’t make it – she was its mother right now. The truth of that amazed her. She was a mother; she was going to have a little baby. And, Red? Red was this baby’s father. Wow. After everything – all they’d been through, against all odds – she had come to love him and trust him. She wanted a future with him, and now that future would include a child. She needed him to come home, for everything to be alright, so she could provide this child with a father. But, no matter what happened, she would do everything in her power to be a healthy, strong, loving mother for her child. Even if Red never returned, he had left her with the gift she wanted most, and she planned to shelter and protect it with all she had. 

She found a doctor, endured several weeks of morning sickness, began craving Mexican food and milkshakes, and lost her overly thin frame. She glowed, all silky hair and soft skin, and even to her own eyes, she looked better than she had in years. By the time she was five months along, she had the opportunity to find out the baby’s gender, but she decided to wait, hoping Red would be back for its birth, and they could find out together. She awaited his return with bated breath, because he was missing it – all the wonderful things she was experiencing, he was missing them. She longed to tell him so many little things, so she wrote them all down in her journal – the one that had started out full of loneliness and misery, now teemed with joy and happiness. 

She resisted the urge to use her phones to contact someone who could let Red know the good news; that’s not how she wanted him to find out – through an intermediary while in prison. Initially, after South Carolina, he had told her to call if she were going to have a baby. But, the situation was different now, and she wanted to be the one to tell him, to gauge his response, to share her pleasure with him. And, so she kept to their agreement – she would not make contact with him unless her safety was compromised, and he would only send word if his plan was compromised. She had not heard from anyone, so she had to assume things were as they should be. 

By her seventh month of pregnancy, she was finishing her last bits of school work, and her office was all but cleared out. She was getting bigger by the day, and the baby was very active. “You are wearing me out, little one,” she said rubbing her belly, while she lay in bed late one night unable to sleep. “Where is your father, baby? Huh? Where is he,” she asked her unborn child. It was getting cold outside, and she had lit a fire earlier and watched a movie snuggled under a blanket. She was feeling lonely and worried. He should be out of prison by now. He was supposed to only be held for two months. His time in the prison should have ended three months ago, and she was concerned that something had happened to change that. Otherwise, wouldn’t she have heard from him by now? The longer he waited, the harder it would be for her to join him wherever he was going to be. It would be harder for her to travel soon. She needed a doctor, a birth plan. She had that in Perth, though if Red came for her soon, she would leave with him, without question. But, time was running out. 

By August, when she was eight months pregnant, she had heard nothing from Red or his people. She had completed all of her work. The baby’s nursery was ready. She was prepared for his or her birth. She was excited, so ready for the baby’s arrival, so ready for someone to love and nurture. She looked forward to the event with much anticipation, but her belief that Red would be there had waned. She didn’t know what was happening with him. She had put her trust in him, and Cooper, for that matter, and neither had disappointed her yet. But, honestly, she had bigger worries at the moment. She needed to focus on packing her bag for the hospital, attending her last birthing class, making sure her refrigerator was fully stocked for her return from the hospital, that her bills were paid ahead of time – she didn’t want anything to take her focus off of her child for at least a little while. 

So, when the day came that her water broke, she was ready. She was calm and in the moment. Her mind was clear. She called her friend, Rachel, as planned, to drive her to the hospital. She had already made Rachel promise not to stick around for the likely long process of having a first baby. In truth, she needed this to be as honest an experience as possible. It was bad enough that her doctor and nurses knew her as Alicia; she just couldn’t have Alicia’s friends outside waiting for her, too. So, she labored alone, but happily, calling on all of her strength and energy to deliver a healthy baby, which she did after twelve hours.

“Oh, baby, oh, my sweet, sweet, beautiful baby. You’re here, you’re here,” she cried when the nurse placed the child on her chest. “Oh, hi, sweetheart. Hi. Oh, I am so happy to meet you. You are finally here.” And, never, never had she felt such joy. She was bursting with it. She felt full and complete and wholly new, and even though she had thought she understood love, she wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming emotion seeing her child brought her. A shift occurred within her, an absolute focusing of purpose, so sure and swift it took her breath away. “Wow. You are it. You are everything.”

************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

“Sir, I haven’t been able to get in touch with her,” Greg explained to his employer again. “I tried calling again today, and just like the last few days, there has been no answer on any of the phones in her possession in addition to her personal cell phone and home phone. So, I hope you will agree with my decision to extend my outreach.”

“Yes, yes.”

“It took a little while, but I found her, sir.”

Red took a deep breath. He felt sick. His prison ordeal had been arduous; it had taken longer than expected to get himself assigned to solitary confinement, in fact it took a transfer to another nearby prison. It had been a debacle of governmental proportions; he shouldn’t have been surprised, he told Harold. All in all, he had spent five months in prison, five months too many. He never wanted to return. He had cooperated with Cooper throughout his time there, giving him as much intel as he could regarding the Cabal, other criminal organizations, and other enemies of the state, if you will. Once he escaped, with the help of the FBI and his own people, he had to lay low in the U.S. He was legitimately in the witness protection program, but there was so much at stake for him that every precaution had to be taken. Guards, employees of Red’s, were given large lifetime salaries to continue the charade that Red was indeed a prisoner in solitary confinement awaiting death. 

Red remained in the U.S. for two months. He was making sure all was quiet, that his imprisonment was believed, that he wasn’t being hunted by any rogue factions of foreign governments associated with the Cabal. While he waited, Red planned his next move – to Lizzie. He created safe havens for them in several strategic locations around the world. He delighted in his task, looking forward to his travel to their first destination. When he finally got there and made sure all was safe and to his liking, he contacted Greg: “It’s time. Let her know. Have the jet ready, so she can join me immediately.”

But, it didn’t work out as planned, and now, after three days of looking, Greg had found her. Red swallowed thickly. “Where is she,” he asked, dread permeating the phone line. 

“She’s in the hospital. I know she was admitted through the emergency room nearly three days ago, but she hasn’t been in the Intensive Care Unit. Also, sir, she is not in the morgue. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. Without raising suspicion and not being a relative or on her emergency lists, I have asked as many questions as I can. Give me the word, sir, and I will explore other avenues.”

“No, no,” Red said, already moving about the bedroom, packing a bag. “I’m going there. I will handle it personally.”

“Sir, are you sure it’s safe for you …”

“Thank you, Greg. If anything new presents itself, let me know.” Red hung up. He was in the air within the hour headed for Australia. 

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************************

As disguised as he could be without looking ridiculous, Red walked into the front doors of the local hospital – the same one Lizzie had gone to when she had her panic attack during Red’s last visit. He hadn’t gone to the hospital then, fearing discovery that could compromise them both. But, today, he needed to get to her and find out what was happening. He had been away too long – again – and he had worried about her for more than eight months. He had worried, fretted and longed for and dreamed of her. The thought of her kept him sane in a world so abhorrent to him that he actually believed his flesh crawled, trying to escape. 

“Hi. I am hoping you can help me. I am here to visit Alicia Ramsey. Can you remind me of her room number, please,” he asked the young receptionist, smiling. 

Yes. Just let me check. One moment,” she said, clicking away on the computer in front of her. “Oh. She was discharged his morning.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath. “Thank you.”

He got in his car and drove swiftly to her house. It was late, nearly 11 p.m. when he arrived. Her lights were off, and all seemed quiet and serene in and around the house. He could hear the surf. There was a chill in the air and a slight breeze, winter was winding down. It was peaceful, lulling, as he made his way to the front door. His heart was pounding. He was nervous to see her, hoping she was fine and in good health, that whatever was wrong had been righted, and she was as he had left her. 

He picked the lock like last time he arrived late at night. He had never asked for a key, oddly enough; they had barely left the house during his visit; he hadn’t needed one. But, he did know her security code and quickly entered it before her alarm went off. The lights were all off downstairs, but he knew his way around. He climbed the stairs lightly, so as not to disturb the quiet. He could hear his own breathing, loud to his own ears, and quick. 

He walked to her bedroom and slowly, silently opened the door. He stood in the doorway and took in the sight before him. Her bathroom light was on, but with the bathroom door nearly closed, only a sliver of light shone into the bedroom. He found her sprawled out on her back on the bed. She was on top of the covers wearing pajamas, a bathrobe and pink slippers. Her hair was longer and darker, her face fuller than when he had left her. She looked soft and sweet, lush and supple. She looked so much like when he first surrendered to the FBI that his breath caught in his throat. She looked like that but somehow different, too. Older, maybe, more womanly, in the most pleasant sense. She had changed in the past eight months. 

His eyes narrowed as he continued to assess her. She was breathing deeply; he watched her chest rise and fall, unconsciously coordinating his breaths with hers. His eyes moved lower to her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. She had gained weight, and she had needed to. It suited her. She looked healthy, beautiful really, radiant, so why the hospital stay? What had happened? What … And, then his eyes widened, and he stopped breathing. Had she? 

Then, he heard it, so startling, so near, that he stepped back in surprise. Lizzie’s eyes popped open, and she was on her feet before he could even fully register what he’d heard. 

She moved automatically, eyes half closed, to the end of the bed where she leaned over and picked up a baby out of a bassinet he had not realized was there. She cooed and caressed and remained oblivious to his presence. He took in the intimate scene before him, stunned, awed. Oh, what he had missed. 

She turned back toward her bed with the baby in her arms, and finally, finally, she looked up. She yelped, an undignified, fearful sound that had her tightening her arms around the baby and stepping back quickly. He hastily quelled her fear by stepping more fully into her room, out of the shadows, and saying her name. “Lizzie.” 

“Red? Oh, thank god, Red. You scared me,” she said, her eyes wide. The baby started crying again, and she turned her attention back to the child. “Someone is hungry, I think. Okay, baby, okay.” She walked to her bed and sat down, leaning against the pillows. She opened her shirt and positioned the baby for nursing. Red watched speechless; she seemed so natural, so perfectly content and calm, and confident. When the baby was eating, Lizzie looked up at him to find his eyes wide and shining, his mouth working, but no words forthcoming.

“Come sit by us, Red. Come meet your baby,” she said softly, smiling gently at him. “We have been waiting for you.” She patted the space beside her. He nodded, so much going on in his eyes, she could barely keep up. He slipped his shoes off and then his suit jacket, vest, tie and belt. He carefully draped all of them on a chair, but the belt quickly slipped to the ground. She smiled at that. It was fitting. As she watched him, she remembered the first time she saw him undress, remembered how it made her feel. It seemed so long ago now that she had given him an ultimatum – stay with her or let her go with him. They were still working on that one. 

He rolled up his shirt sleeves as he moved toward her. He used the hand sanitizer on her night stand before moving around the bed to climb in next to her. He didn’t take his eyes off of them the entire time. When he had settled in close to her, Lizzie looked at him, really looked at him, her eyes searching his face for a sign of what he had been through, a sign of his feelings now. He raised his hand and rubbed it so, so gently along the baby’s forehead and into the soft blond hair. 

His silence, so unusual, told her of his surprise at the reality before him. She had so much to tell him, so very much to share, but there would be time. He was here now, which meant everything was okay, everything would be okay. “Red, I’d like you to meet your daughter. I named her Caroline, Caroline Elizabeth Ramsey. She is four days old now. She weighed eight pounds, eight ounces at birth and was 20 inches long. She is perfect, so, so perfect,” she looked between him and the feeding baby as she told him the details.

“Caroline,” he said, mesmerized by the soft skin and silky hair he was feeling. “South Carolina.”

“Yes. It feels right. I think it suits her, too. She is the sweetest thing, Red, the sweetest, sweetest thing. I still can’t believe it’s real. She is everything I ever wanted, and you gave her to me. Something I never thought I’d have. You have given me so many things I never thought I’d have, and everything I’ve always wanted. But, you, Red? Do I have you now? Are you okay? Is everything really okay,” she asked, her beautiful eyes on his, her body so close to him, so warm. 

He laughed softly. “Oh, sweetheart, everything is okay. More than okay. We are all going to be okay. Okay together.” He shifted his gaze to the baby who had fallen asleep at her mother’s breast. What a scene. It was more than he had ever hoped for, more than he had ever dreamed possible. Lizzie. She was a surprise, always had been, always would be, giving him more than he ever deserved and then making him believe he deserved it. 

“Red?”

“Yes, Lizzie?”

“Kiss me.”

He leaned over ever so slightly and found her lips, kissing them gently once, twice, three times, before shifting back to look at her. 

“Congratulations, Red,” she whispered. “We did it.”

He chuckled and whispered back, “Congratulations, Lizzie. I told you we would make a great team.”

The End


End file.
